


The Cursed Prince

by thegaygladers



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: ! - Freeform, History class vampire A.U, Human! Thomas, M/M, Ninston, brenderesa - Freeform, minally, newtmas - Freeform, the sex is only mentioned dw, vampire newtmas, vampire newtmas a.u, vampire! Newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:32:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegaygladers/pseuds/thegaygladers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thomas had first made the decision to find out more about the cute and eccentric blond boy in his class, he had never really taken into consideration how it all could end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shadows Kiss, Before We Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things really don't turn out the way you expect them to.  
> In a good way.

“Um…so, yeah,” Thomas concluded, his presentation ending the same way it always did. “So…I think that… Prince Newton assassinated King Newton because his father was hindering his rise to power.”

“Excellent, Mr. Williams,” the history teacher – Ava Paige – nodded, smiling. “I think you have explained your points well, and analyzed the sources I assigned properly too. Does anyone have any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads almost instinctively, dreadfully bored. Everyone except Isaac.

Isaac was wearing a grimace so defined, it almost rendered him ugly. This was the most emotion Thomas had seen on the new boy as of yet.

“Yes, Mr. Newton? Does there seem to be a problem?” Ava asked, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Uh…” Isaac looked traumatized to have been noticed; he looked like he wanted to disappear. “Not really, but… I think Williams here has got the completely wrong end o’ the stick, you know? Prince Newton was _four_ when his father was killed _._ I don’t think Newton – _Prince_ Newton, not me, obviously – was a bad lad.”

Yet again, Thomas found himself mesmerized by the blond’s posh, old- fashioned accent and low voice, along with his use of extensive hand gestures.

Isaac _was_ kinda hot in his own weird way, Minho hadn’t been _entirely_ wrong.

“Mr. Newton, as far as I’m aware, Mr. Williams here is indisputably correct. You should review your history notes at home, we have talked about this and it’s in the text book-”

“He _isn’t_ correct, alright? I am _certain_ Prince Newton was a benevolent and compassionate boy; he was loved and he loved in return-”

“Mr. Newton, I think you should-”

“No, just - just - listen to me for once, okay? All these textbooks have got it wrong, as well as that sodden _internet_ -”

“How would you know?” Thomas cut Newt off sharply, feeling his well-known temper kicking in. He had spent hours on analysis, and even lost some sleep because of this project. Newton was not going to ruin it for him. This was the first time Thomas had ever spoken directly to the newcomer.

Newt shut up abruptly due to Thomas’s interruption, glaring daggers at the brown haired boy. He looked like he was at conflict with himself.

"I thought so," Thomas smiled triumphantly.

“I know because I was _there._ ”

Newt had spoken so unexpectedly that almost the entire class shrieked and jumped three feet into the air in shock.

After a long minute, Ava let out a sigh, long and exaggerated, and exasperatedly said, “If you’re done disrupting lessons, Mr. Newton, shall we move on?”

“But-”

“Quiet, Mr. Newton.”

The boy was humiliatingly shut up for the second time that day. And so he returned to glaring at Thomas, who childishly stuck his tongue out in response.

Thomas could've sworn he caught Newt trying to hide a grin under the cover of a thick History textbook.

“Hey! Newton! Wait up!”

The blond turned around to find Thomas running to catch up to him after the lesson. An irritated expression crossed Newt’s face.

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Williams. You were right, okay, whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes. He continued his walking away.

“What did you mean, “You were there”?”

Newt stopped then, and swallowed. He turned to look at Thomas slowly, his gaze scrutinizing. “Why are you so stubborn? I _told_ ya it was nothing.”

To any passerby it would have sounded like a sound enough truth, because Newt’s voice was steady and natural.

But Thomas was up close, and he saw sweat prickling on Newt’s forehead ever so slightly and his eyes skittering ever so suspiciously. He wouldn’t look up.

“Quit it, Newton. What was up with that? That was the first time I’ve seen you participate in class, ever, and I’m not stupid. I know something’s up. Were you trying to make fun of me?”

“No!”

“Well then, what was it?”

“Bugger off, Williams. Leave me alone, and _stay_ that way.”

Thomas never had been one to follow orders.

“ _What’s wrong with you_?” Thomas whispered as a sort of goodbye while Newt left him standing in the middle of the hallway. The blond looked only a bit more cautious and wary than usual as he walked.

“Oh, come _on_ , Thomas, you’re not actually doing this,” Minho whined, as him and his friend stood hidden behind a statue outside the art classroom, waiting for Isaac to emerge. Thomas had somehow managed to get hold of the boy’s timetable. “He was probably just trying to be funny, y’know. New kid wants to make friends.”

“Shut up,” Thomas hissed. “Don’t worry. I won’t try anything on him, I swear.”

“Disgusting. I have Gally, thank you very much. I’m just pointing out how absurd it is that out of all the people, you find _him_ suspicious,” he nodded at a skinny blond squashed in the middle of a chaos of youths running out of “ART ROOM, NUMBER 3”. He did look quite innocent and angelic compared to the people surrounding him, with his golden hair ruffled and sticking up endearingly and a big blue paint mark on the tip of his nose, a green one on his ear.

 _How did that even_ get _there,_ Thomas thought.

“I’m just curious.”

And Thomas _was_ curious. It was only justified, Newton was pretty and eccentric and mysterious, and Thomas wanted to know more.

Thomas waited until Newton was a safe distance away, and then went on to follow.

“Take care of the house, and please fuck Gally on your _own_ bed,” he winked at his flat mate, throwing at him a bunch of keys. Minho caught them almost innately, displaying an example of his impressive reflex.

Minho flushed endearingly.

“Fuck you too, Tommyboy.”

*

Newt had a bike.

A bigass, gleaming black, _Harley Davidson_ bike.

“ _Woah_ ,” Thomas breathed in fascination, unable to help himself.

He didn’t know how he was going to follow Newt without being noticed, but as a great man (Sirius Black) had once said: “What is life without a little risk?”

Thomas smiled inwardly at the encouragement from his idol.

And so he put on his jacket and a helmet, a feeble attempt at disguise, and got astride his less flashy bike.

Thomas followed Newt for what felt like days, and he had to resist the urge to fall asleep several times. Down they went through dark alleyways and tunnels, on highways and leaf enveloped roads.

 _Where does he live, Narnia?_ Thomas whined mentally.

There had been quite a few times when the two of them had been the only ones on a road, and Thomas was terrified out of his mind at what may happen if he got caught. Newton just had to slow down a little bit to know he was being followed.

But the blond carried on, seemingly unaware of anything but his destination.

Thomas’s eyes eventually fell to Newton’s hips, flexing, grinding against the leather seat of his transport. The boy was wearing a black T-Shirt, skin tight and long sleeved, with a pair of just loose enough jeans. The T-Shirt complimented Newton’s shapely torso and defined back and muscled arms in a way that made Thomas feel…

…like he wanted to be there. On Isaac’s bike, his front pressed against the blond’s hipbones. _He felt like he wanted to be close to Isaac._

It took Thomas every last stance of dignity and pride he had to tear his eyes away and focus again on where he was going.

Just when he decided that turning back might be the best way out of this rather uncomfortable situation, Newton hit the brakes. He did it so abruptly that the bike threw him off of itself, and Thomas was about to let out a small scream of “ _holy shit_!” when he heard the unmistakable soft thump of a pair of feet landing on the concrete, safe and unhurt.

That was - that was _impossible._ Thomas stumbled back, bumping into his own bike slightly. _No way._ That was  _not_ possible; Thomas had _seen_ the bike toss Newt off.

He was brought back to reality when a blur of color in front of him enlightened him of movement. Newton was walking down the side of the road, and into…

“ _A Forest_?” Thomas wondered incredulously. “He lives in a fucking _forest_?”

The situation seemed to be getting stranger and stranger with every passing second.

But he followed Newt into the woods nevertheless, and soon enough – much sooner than the road trip, anyway – they were standing in a clearing. It was barren, trees circling the small patch of illuminated land. It smelt of grass and water and petrichor; Thomas recognized the smell almost immediately.

_It smelt of Isaac._

The clearing was completely empty of anything unnatural save a big wooden cottage, which surprisingly emitted an aura of yellow warmth and _home_. Newton took his time in approaching the house, jumping in through the lowest window when he got there.

_Gymnastics…?_

The little, sensible voice in the back of Thomas's mind was warning him of danger, begging him to go back, turn around, leave this place.

Thomas walked towards the cottage.

He walked as soundlessly as he thought was humanly possible, and reached the house even later than Newton had. When there, he pressed his ear to the closed door, listening.

Newt was singing.

It was a very old song; Thomas remembered bits of it from his great great grandad’s gramophone. The song had been made at least a few hundred decades ago, and Thomas had been convinced that no one knew of its existence anymore.

Newton did, apparently.

The song was a happy, upbeat one, but Newton sang it in a voice that was filled with melancholy and foreboding; Thomas felt the hair on his arms rise.

_“And if this blood runs dry, my love…If this love runs dry, my love…”_

This spiked Thomas’s interest enough for him to take the tiniest peek through the glass-less window.

Newton was leaning over his fridge ( _Where did the electricity come from…?_ ) in a manner a bit too reminiscent of Thomas when he was bored or hungry (Or sad, or happy…). Thomas chuckled, and felt the smallest bit of embarrassment build up in his body. Why had he followed the blond all the way here? Isaac probably _had_ been trying to make a joke…

And that’s when Thomas smelt it. A cold, metallic scent, contrasting strongly with the fresh air outside.

_What the-_

What Thomas saw when he looked through the window again was a view he knew would haunt his nightmares for a lifetime to come.

Newt was drinking, hungrily, with his head tossed back, and each desperate gulp he took seemed to strengthen him by a several iotas.

What caught Thomas’s eyes, however, was the small plastic bag Newt was drinking out of. There was a red cross, with “New Hope Hospital” imprinted on it in big, bold letters.

Thomas _remembered_ this bag.

It was one of the blood sample bags from the Hematology department of the hospital Gally had recently forced him to go to and donate… _blood_.

Some red liquid escaped the side of Newt’s mouth, and any doubts Thomas might have had about what was in the bag disappeared instantly.

Common sense finally got the better of him, and he forced his legs to turn around and start running, as fast as possible. This was the most scared he had ever remembered being.

But before he could do anything-

“Don’t you want to share, Tommy?”

Thomas collapsed.

*

He was lifted two feet into the air almost instantly, by hands attached to a body that looked unaffected by the strain. A face, saintly, guiltless as ever, smiled up at him, teeth dripping scarlet.

Thomas felt as if the very last breath had been knocked out of him, he was shaking violently under Newt’s grip.

“Wha...t are… you…Let…go of…me!” Thomas struggled violently, but Newt didn’t budge.

“Aw, Tommy, if I told you, I’d have to kill you! Are you really stupid enough to believe that I didn’t notice you behind me?” Newt chuckled insanely, letting the terrified brown haired boy down, still holding the front of his shirt, face in close proximity of Thomas’s. “I knew you were the maddening, persistent sort, and won’t let me live – Haha, ‘live’ – until I gave you the ending you deserve. So I thought, why not have some fun first?”

As soon as Thomas got his breath back, he tried to scream – but it sounded more like a choked growl.

“ _What are you_?”

Newt let go of Thomas, but Thomas seemed to be paralyzed.

Newton snickered, shaking his head.

“You really _are_ stupid, aren’t you,” Newt said, looking amused. “Rule No. 1, Williams – You don’t ask vampires what they are,” He was nose-to-nose with Thomas in a second, “ _Because it makes them angry_.”

As if on cue, the forest grew cold, deadly quiet. The birds stopped chirping, and the occasional sweep of wind was no longer there.

Thomas swallowed hard, adrenaline finally kicking in as he ran as fast as he could back towards the beginning of the clearing and into the forest.

Halfway in, though, Newt was waiting for him.

He _was_ a vampire, after all.

Thomas halted, his breathing heavy. Newton walked at a torturously slow pace towards him, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

“ _Please_ d-don’t kill me,” Thomas begged without preamble, abandoning every trace of courage and pride he had left. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Newt shook his head, chuckling.

“Aw, Tommy, your puppy eyes and pleading won’t work on _Prince_ Newton,” Newt sighed, and noticing Thomas's baffled expression, added, “Yes. _Prince_ Newton whose harmless father was assassinated by his "friends" for what he was. _Prince_ Newton who got the curse passed on to him, through the blood of said father, so the Newton family could keep the kingdom safe always. _Prince_ Newton who didn’t kill his father. _Prince_ Newton who was a child of a mere 4 years old and innocent and  _undeserving_ of such a fate.”

Thomas was watching Newton, wondering what to feel. Sorry for Isaac’s fate? Happy for the extra few minutes of life he had because Isaac was talking? Petrified about what came next?

“I’m sorry, Tommy,” Newton said, his voice genuinely filled with an ancient self-loathing and sadness that surprised Thomas. “But what I am is a secret I have to keep. Forever. For my father.”

Thomas couldn’t believe what was happening until Newt lowered his mouth to Thomas’s neck. Thomas remained still until he felt warm breath condense on his skin - it made him feel something that could have been considered rather inappropriate given the situation.

 _He was going to die_ , the cold, harsh fact finally settled itself in Thomas’s head. Newton was really going to kill him.

And so, with one last, rash attempt for survival, Thomas grabbed the back of Newt’s neck and lifted his head so the vampire was looking straight into his eyes.

And then Thomas kissed him.

He hadn’t meant it to be romantic in any way. This was not the _time_ to be romantic. He had done it as a last resort, a last chance to save himself, or at least delay his approaching doom. But Isaac had gasped and then moaned against his lips and grabbed Thomas tightly by the waist, taking control, and he had deepened the embrace in a way that had made Thomas’s heart beat faster than it already was. Newt had felt that if he’d had a heartbeat, it would be in the same frantic condition as Thomas’s.

Thomas hadn’t expected the kiss to feel this _good._

He hadn’t expected it to be powerful enough to stop Newt’s attempt at homicide, and hadn’t expected to start to like this, to _want_ this intimacy. To want it so much that he would have given anything to make it last _forever._

He’d once considered these kinds of feelings sappy.

Newt finally put his hands to Thomas’s chest, and pushed him away.

Newt’s pupils had dilated ( _how?_ ), his dark eyes were filled with desire. But it wasn’t desire for safety anymore, it wasn’t desire to kill. It was lust, desire for the electricity of _love_ he looked like he’d never gotten the chance to have before, the desire for _Thomas._

Their stares held for a long time.

Thomas still felt apprehension and fear, but it was now laced with something more exciting, something more captivating, and _much_  less terrifying.

Newt grinned.

“What was that, Tommy?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “You got a hard on for monsters, have ya?" he shook his head at the ground, chuckling adorably, "Why d’ya do that for, you pouf?”

“Because... you were going to kill me,” Thomas joked weakly, “and I still haven’t watched the second “The Incredibles” movie.”

Newt laughed again.

“I wasn’t going to kill… okay, okay, maybe a little bit. But I’m not anymore. Relax.”

Thomas didn't want to know what Newton had meant by a "little bit".

“What? You serious?” he asked incredulously, "You're just going to... _let me be_?"

“Yeah. I’d like to do _that_ ," Newt gestured vaguely at the pair of them, "again, sometime. That was good. I liked it.”

“You do know that I can still tell people, right?”

“But you won’t,” Newt smiled, turning away from the boy.

Thomas opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. Newton was right. He hadn’t actually physically hurt Thomas yet. He had been about to, yes, but he _hadn’t_ , and that was good enough for Thomas. He hadn’t hurt Thomas because Thomas had kissed him. And that kiss had made Newton feel something, too, enough for him to abandon his destructive tendencies without further thought. And for some reason, this fact made Thomas feel irrationally and disgustingly giddy. He felt scarlet creep up in his cheeks as hormones finally caught up with activity, and he tried to hide it.

“Aw, Tommy, you’re blushing.”

“Yeah, I know, thanks. You don’t seem to have that problem, either.”

Newton rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Newton.”

“Huh? Why?” Newt looked genuinely surprised; it was an unexpected apology.

“For calling Prince Newton evil.”

Newt laughed.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it. Every history class I’ve ever been in – and I’ve been in many – the students and teachers believe this crap, and… there’s no stopping it without drawing too much attention to myself. It was just that… _you_ thinking like that of Prince Newton, of _me_ … it just didn’t work.”

Thomas nodded, flopping down on the ferny floor of the woods. He realized he was exhausted, it had been a long day.

“You tired?” Newton asked worriedly, flopping down beside him. Thomas found their current standpoint very amusing indeed, as this same boy had been about to murder him just a few minutes ago.

A little bit, anyway.

“Yeah. Aren’t you?” Thomas exhaled, eyes still shut.

“Vampire,” Newt explained.

“Ah,” Thomas nodded, eyes fluttering open again. He looked at Newton. “Do you sparkle, too?”

“What?”

“You know, like in Twilight. Haven't you watched the movie?” Thomas asked curiously, shifting closer to the blond.

“Oh, _that_ junk. Yeah, I have, actually. It was rather entertaining, it was like watching a really inaccurate documentary about your species. Edward Cullen’s quite handsome.”

““Handsome”? Seriously? I thought he was kinda hot. Handsome… not really.”

“Yeah, it's only been a few centuries since I was an adolescent. No reason for me to not use your silly speak.”

Thomas laughed, trying not to think about that too much.

“Uh. So. _Do_ you? Sparkle, I mean.”

“You followed me here, didn’t you, Tommy? I’d say it’s a damn sunny day. Well? Was I sparkling?”

“Well, no…”

“Fool.”

“Say “dumbass”.”

“Why?”

“Because this is the 21st century and we’re all assholes.”

Newt didn’t seem to understand him.

“Seriously, how did no one ever find out about you? You seem to know nothing about...” he gestured around them dramatically, clumsily "you know. Us. Today. Now."

“Well, I hardly ever talk to people, for one thing. And swearing isn’t exactly something I’d use in normal conversation,” Newt shrugged. “…Dumbass.” He added, winking.

Thomas felt the last traces of doubt and apprehension leave his body. If Newt hadn’t killed Thomas, that wink did.

“At least you don’t talk Shakespearean.”

“Shakespeare was way after my time, Tommy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Gladly.”

“Why do you know what _that_ means.”

“I’m still a teenager,” Newt smirked again, making himself comfortable on the green earth.

Thomas rolled his eyes.

“The sun doesn’t do anything to us,” Newt informed him, his chest rising and falling gracefully as he lay on the ground. Thomas knew Newton did it on purpose, that it was pretense to seem a little more human around searching eyes, but it seemed so _natural_ that Thomas couldn’t help but find it beautiful. “Neither does garlic. I don’t even know where that one came from. The only thing you humans have got right is that we live on blood.”

Thomas couldn’t hold it in anymore, and the words spilt out of his mouth.

“Do you actually _kill_ people? For their blood?”

“No, I "borrow" it from the hospital. My speed and agility are rather helpful traits. I used to… you know, but Wins… someone I respected convinced me... not... to...”

Newt trailed off, and Thomas was overwhelmed with more questions. Who was Wince? What had happened to them? But he stayed quiet, because he knew now was not the time to ask.

“You used to drink human blood?” Thomas probed, pretending not to have heard the last of what Newt had said.

“Yeah. It wasn’t like… it wasn’t from alive people, exactly. It was more… I drank from people who were on the verge of dying anyway.”

The image that formed in Thomas’s mind made him feel sick, but he was not scared in the least. He gathered that if he wanted this, if he _wanted Isaac_ , these memories, real, _actual_ events that Newt had been a part of, were something he’d have to accept. Thomas didn’t even have to think twice about his decision. He felt it had been made a long time ago, and not by him, before he’d even known the blond. By whom, he didn’t know, but he appreciated them still.

Thomas caught Newt’s eye, and the vampire looked almost ashamed.

“I’m sorry, Tommy. I didn’t know what I was doing back then. Murder... wasn't that... uncommon or frowned upon, either.”

“I understand, Isaac-”

“Newt.”

“What?”

“Call me Newt. I like it better.”

“Okay. Newt. I understand, I guess, and I don’t hate you. No, no no, listen -- I know I should, and all that shit, but I can’t, okay, and you’ll have to live with it.”

““Live.””

“ _Exist_. Be. Whatever it is that you’re doing.”

Newt frowned then, looking as if he were at battle with himself.

“I’m dangerous. I’m…not human. You should not be around me,” Newt said, to no one in particular. He looked bitter, as if he were remembering something awful.

“I’m not scared.”

“ _I_ am.”

Thomas stood up, and held out his hand so Newt could, too. He knew that Newt was someone who could crush his bones with one little squeeze, but he also knew – as much as Newt would never admit it – that the vampire craved affection - or whatever the vampire equivalent for that feeling was. Every little bit of it he received. So Thomas would give it to him.

Newt looked up at Thomas’s held out hand longingly, but his gaze also held heavy doubt.

“I really shouldn’t,” he said.

“ _Please,_ Newt _,_ ” Thomas pled.

And so Newt took his hand, if a bit hesitantly. Thomas pulled the boy close.

“Newt, look, I've liked you for a long time, okay? Way longer than I'd originally thought, in fact. And I swear, I will not let anything happen to you. To us, okay? You’re as safe with me as _I_ am with _you_ ,” Thomas was trying to convince both himself and Newt simultaneously, though the latter seemed to take longer to believe.

“I will hurt you. I almost _did_ today.”

“Yeah, _that_ you did," Thomas agreed, but he was smiling, "We’ll have to work on that one together."

Newt felt happy, like he was in love. And the fact that he hadn't really "felt" for anyone in such a long time made Thomas all the more marvelous.

But he didn’t speak a word as Thomas moved their bodies gently in sync, their own slow dance, the calming silence of the woods was their music. Newt didn’t speak a word for he knew, somehow, that Thomas would just laugh and shake his head, not believe it, tell Newt he was being ridiculous and that he was going to fall for someone else before he knew it. And other wise things that were way ahead of his years.

But Newt knew he loved Thomas. He didn't know how or why or when, he just knew he did.

Maybe it was a vampire thing.


	2. To Revel In The Calm, Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It really was too good to last,_ Newt thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for this. And I know I kinda made Minho an asshole in this chapter, but he's just worried about his "bro", okay?

“Psssst. Dude. What happened. Why the hell are you ignoring me!”

“Fuck off, Minho.”

“Do you want me to ask Isa-”

“Don't you dare, you bitch! Why did I befriend you again? You’re quite infuriating," Thomas hissed, "Can’t you at least wait for the lesson to end?”

“Good that, _bitch_ ,” Minho smiled triumphantly, satisfied with finally having got Thomas to speak.

He leaned back in his chair, and continued making eyes at Gally, who was busy working.

*

“So.”

Minho, Gally and Thomas stood – well, Thomas and Gally did; Minho was kind of lounging - in an empty classroom during Recess that day. Thomas looked like he was in pain.

“I can’t tell you, man.”

“C’mon, dude. You promised him,” Gally piped in, seeming to snap out of his reverie.

Thomas narrowed his eyes at the boy, and looked back at Minho.

“I still don’t understand why you’re dating him,” Thomas whined, gesturing vaguely at Gally.

“You don’t need to,” Minho replied simply, Gally and him exchanging quick looks filled with so much warmth and affection Thomas felt rude watching. He thought they were too young to be so in love. “Just talk, for fuck’s sake.”

Thomas thought about what he should say, what would completely hide Newt’s identity from them but also give them an insight on what was going on.

“Newt and I…” Thomas struggled with his words more than usual, and then exhaled exasperatedly, “By Newt, I mean Isaac, by the way – he just likes Newt better – we’re… dating.”

“WHAT?!”

This came from the couple in chorus, both of their mouths were hanging open.

Thomas stepped back, held up his hands in defense. He had no idea where this was going, he wasn’t even sure if him and Newt _were_ dating. What were they, anyway?

“I thought you – I thought you were – I thought you had a thing for that _Brenda_ girl,” Gally broke the silence when it seemed like no one else was about to.

Thomas felt his cheeks heating up. He _had_ had a tiny bit of a crush on his twin’s hush-hush girlfriend. But that little crush couldn’t come remotely close to what Thomas realized he felt for Newt. Had felt for Newt for a long time before he’d even realized it.

“No, she’s dating _Teresa_ ,” Thomas stated, spitting the last word as if it were poison in his mouth.

“Oh, my god!” Minho exclaimed dramatically, arms spread out, eyes half closed, the whole deal. “Is anyone even straight anymore?”

“Says the gayest gay ever,” Thomas rolled his eyes.

“I’m not gay! I’m pansexual,” Minho protested.

“Lads! Let’s get back to the issue at hand,” Gally announced, taking on his usual bossy personality. He turned to Thomas. “You’re dating Newton? _Newton_ is dating _you_?”

“Why? Is there something wrong with me, Brooks?” Thomas argued, glaring death at Gally. Thomas still didn’t understand why he had to tell the boy anything.

Gally chuckled.

“Never mind that, Tommy,” he chimed. Thomas cringed at the nickname. It sounded a lot sweeter, more sincere, in Newt’s voice. “ _Are_ you, or are you not, dating Isaac?”

“I just _said_ I am!” Thomas retorted, his nerves prompting his temper.

“But _how_?” Minho asked. He looked very agonizingly confused. “How did that happen in one day? What did he do to you? What did you see? Are you okay? Is _he_ okay? He doesn’t even speak in class, and now you two are dating? Did he ask you out with his eyes? Did you guys do anything? Where – ”

“Woah, woah. Slim it, Park,” Thomas sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I _kissed_ him.”

“What? Why?”

Thomas didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t very well tell them that Newt had tried to kill him.

“Because he was all angry about me following him and he looked so frustrated and wound up and _hot_ ,” That, Thomas decided, was true enough. “He was so _close_ to me and I could feel his breath on my skin and it was tingling my neck and I just couldn’t help –”

“Woah! Okay, okay, I get the idea,” Minho exhaled, his eyes wide but amused. Gally was making a face. “And Isaac didn’t mind this brash action of yours?”

“No,” Thomas smiled at the memory. “He liked it very much.”

“Honestly. Everyone _is_ gay,” Minho shook his head.

“I thought you were pansexual.”

“Shut up.”

“Alright.”

After a few awkward minutes of contemplative silence, the usual mischievousness returned to Minho’s eyes and the corners of his mouth perked up.

“Call him over tonight,” he smirked.

Thomas nearly fell over. “What?”

“Call Isaac up to ours. Let’s see if he’s good enough for our tommyboy here,” Minho explained.

“I…”

“Gally and I will be waiting for you guys, soon as the clock strikes ten.”

 

*

 

“I can’t do that, Tommy. Please don’t make me.”

“They really want to see my new boyfriend,” Thomas insisted. He made sure the word ‘boyfriend’ had been heard, just to see Newt’s reaction.

“I can’t- _What_ did you say?” Newt asked. “ _Boyfriend_?”

“Yeah,” Thomas’s heart grew heavy.

“I’m not – You’re not –”

“Okay... Okay! I get it, alright? I’m not your boyfriend. Okay. Got it,” Thomas snapped, unable to help himself - he felt thoroughly disappointed and... heartbroken.

“Tommy…”

“Don’t.”

They were back in the woods, but this time, _inside_ Newt’s house. Thomas had to admit, it was the most beautiful house he had ever seen.

“Listen, Tommy. Please,” Newt gripped Thomas’s arm softly, turning the younger boy so he faced the blond. Thomas knew just how much effort it had taken Newt to maintain that soft grip, so he didn’t turn back around.

“What.”

Thomas was ashamed to find he was pouting, but he couldn’t help it.

“That word... ‘boyfriend’... detaches you from me. It sounds too… shallow. I don’t want you to be my _boyfriend_ ,” Newt gently placed a pale finger on Thomas’s mouth when he opened it again in an attempt to speak. “Listen, Thomas. I don’t want you to be my boyfriend. You mean way too much to me. I want you to be my _beloved_.”

The word sounded ancient and outlandish to Thomas, but as he looked into Newt’s amber eyes, shining with some very deep emotion he couldn’t fathom, he realized how much exactly the word meant to the other boy.

Thomas decided that if being Newt’s “beloved” would treasure that look in the older boy’s eyes forever, he would do it very happily indeed.

“So, will you come, then, my _darling_ beloved?” Thomas teased quietly, his voice hoarse due to the very short distance between his and Newt’s lips.

“Hell and back for you,” Newt murmured as he closed that small space with his desperate mouth.

 

*

 

“Is he coming or…”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” Thomas told Minho, trying to convince himself as well.

 _Please,_ Thomas thought, _let Newt have meant what he’d said earlier._

There was a knock on the door, and Thomas let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Newt was here.

“I’ll get it,” Gally said, getting up from the sofa, leaving Minho and Thomas alone in the room.

“You better behave, Minho,” Thomas warned.

“Obviously!” Minho exclaimed in mock indignation. “What do you take me for? It’s your first boyfriend ever!”

“And my last,” Thomas whispered to himself.

“It better be,” Minho nodded, “Or else I’m gonna take him.”

“Minho-”

“I’m _kidding_ , you shithead. I’d thought you of all people would know how I feel about Gal.”

“I do. Turned your fuckboy ass into a nice, decent man, didn’t he?”

Minho had almost turned completely scarlet when Gally returned, with no Newt in sight.

“Where is he?” Minho asked, while Thomas looked baffled.

“I don’t know, man. I swore I heard-”

Another knock. This time the boys turned to look at the window.

And there he was, flowers between his teeth, one hand clutching the window pane to hold him up and the other being used to knock. He didn’t look even remotely aggravated.

“What the fuck,” Gally whispered as Minho ran to open the window.

Thomas stood frozen.

Oh, no.

Minho let Newt in, watching him bewilderedly.

Newt got on one knee and gave both Minho and Gally a white rose, and Thomas a red one.

Only when Newt noticed all eyes were on him did he seem to realize he’d done something abnormal.

“That’s how… we sneaked into our… lover’s rooms… in my time…” He tried to explain, looking at Thomas for help. But the brown haired boy was just watching Newt in shock.

“What-”

Thomas finally seemed to regain his bearings, and forced a smile on his face.

“Let’s have dinner, shall we,” Thomas declared, his voice higher than usual. Newt was still looking like he didn’t understand what he’d done wrong. Minho had his eyes narrowed, but didn’t say anything.

He had, after all, known Thomas since Pre–K.

“We have Pasta, Pizza, Spaghetti and coke,” Minho announced happily, once all four of them were seated on the dinner table.  “What'd you wanna eat, Isaac?”

Newt looked at Thomas, his eyes wide.

 _Shit._ Thomas hadn’t thought about this.

“He is… uh… on… a diet thing,” Thomas improvised. Newt nodded. “The doctor told him not to eat Italian.”

“What the hell kind of diet is that?” Minho asked, sounding like he didn’t believe a word of it. “We ordered all this food especially for him.”

“I’m sorry, Minho,” Newt said, his tone polite and convincing. Minho looked surprised at being directly addressed by the blond. “I forgot to tell you.”

“It’s okay, blondie. Doesn’t matter,” Gally spoke for Minho, who was showing no signs of responding and was staring at Newt suspiciously. He wasn’t very good at being discreet. “You can still have the coke, right?”

Thomas looked at Newt with raised eyebrows.

Newt grinned at him. The smile sent a wave of reassurance through Thomas, making him feel like this night couldn’t get that bad, after all.

“I don’t drink coke, never have,” Newt said. He was very, very good at lying. “Mum never let me. Said it’s bad for ya.”

Gally nodded, looking persuaded.

“So you’re just gonna watch us eat?” Minho asked rather rudely.

Newt shrugged.

“I suppose.”

“Do you want me to make something else for you?” Gally asked.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Newt played with his fingers as the three boys ate in silence. Watching Newt’s hands move like that made Thomas hunger for something else. He felt himself turn burgundy at the thought.

Sometime into the dinner, when things started getting rather boring, Thomas felt something run up his leg, smoothly and expertly. Looking up, he realized it was Newt’s foot, because the vampire shot him a playful wink.

Thomas hoped Minho couldn’t feel him radiating heat.

*

“Don’t you think it’s funny?” Minho asked, looking straight at Newt as the four boys lay on two separate couches. Newt and Thomas on one, Gally and Minho on the other. “You have the same name as that Prince Isaac Newton from Tom’s history class.”

Minho was clearly trying to make himself sound nonchalant, but the accusation in his tone was very evident. At least to Thomas. Even Gally looked slightly uncomfortable, and Newt seemed to be catching up.

“No, not funny at all,” Newt replied just as coolly. “I bet there are loads of Minho Parks out there, too.”

Thomas tightened his grip on Newt’s hand.

“No?” Minho continued. Thomas mentally begged his friend to stop. “Well, do you find it funny that you look a lot like him, too?”

Thomas saw Newt’s eyes turning slightly red in the dim light, making his heart tremble with fear. Of what, he wasn't sure.

“No, I don’t.”

“I’ve never seen your parents. They weren’t here to get you registered into the school, either,” Minho stated. “Did you know that that asshole Prince killed his father for powe-”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I’ve heard people say that there was something wrong with him. The father, I mean. Nasty man-”

“Alright, that's enough. Shut up! How _dare_ you –”

Newt had risen from the couch way too fast for Thomas to even know until the blond attacked Minho. His eyes were now seething red.

Thomas sat up in horror, too, as Gally struggled to throw Newt off his boyfriend’s chest. He didn't seem to have noticed the change in Newt's eye color, preoccupied in trying to not let his boyfriend get murdered.

Thomas joined in, terrified as he was, trying to pull Newt back by his shirt, knowing it was no use. Still he tried.

“Stop! Newt! Wait! Stop!” Thomas screamed, as Newt continued shaking the Asian boy. It was way better than what Newt was capable of doing, but it seemed to be causing Minho pain all the same. The muscled, strong guy looked really frail now, compared to Newt. “Newt! Please! Stop!”

“He’s going to kill him!” Gally yelled at Thomas, and Thomas saw that he actually had tears in his eyes. A sudden warmth welled up in his chest for this boy he’d always hated.

But now was not the time to go all warm and motherly on Gally, he had to control Newt. Like an epiphany appearing straight from the heavens above, he remembered the previous day, and realized what had stopped Newt from killing Thomas.

So he grabbed the vampire’s face, and forced their lips together (it took _all_ of his strength to do so). The resistance seemed to disappear from Newt completely, and all was suddenly quiet.

Minho was glaring at Newt, but there was a strange, new sort of fear in his eyes as he touched a part of his face that was bleeding. He looked like he couldn’t believe what he’d seen, but was conflicted because that was the only explanation. He also looked as if he knew something Thomas clearly didn't.

Thomas grabbed Newt’s hand and pulled him from the living room, until they were safely hidden in the balcony of his bedroom.

“He knows, he knows,” Newt was chanting, his eyes wide in horror, as if he were somewhere else. “Minho knows, he knows what I am…”

Newt sunk into Thomas’s chest when Thomas tried to tug the boy closer, still chanting.

“He doesn’t know,” Thomas hoped out loud, rubbing his hands up and down Newt’s back. “He doesn’t know.”

“They’re going to kill me…” Newt trembled. “He’s going to tell them…”

“No, Newt. I won’t let him tell anyone, he doesn’t know,” Thomas held Newt closer than he had ever before, knowing it wasn’t making much of a difference, but he was trying. The scent of the vampire engulfed Thomas’s senses, made him want to get away from everything that was happening and just live in it for an eternity.

“I told you we shouldn’t do this, Tommy…See, he’s going to hand me to them… As well as he should...”

“Newt. Stop saying that, please," Thomas begged, kissing every part of Newt's face that he could see through the blond's hands, "I promised to protect you. You’re safe with me. You’re my beloved, remember?”


	3. And The World Was Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helping a lovesick Thomas was a difficult task, even for Minho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so... I know this was a long wait. I know. I know. I'm sorry, I've been kinda dead recently. I have everything figured out about this story, like, where it's going, and stuff. I'm just... a bit of a lazy ass, you know? I've been delaying this chapter for three months and just wrote it in an hour- boredom being my sole motivation. Did I mention it's 2 in the morning?  
> Anyway. Hope you like this chapter :)

“Are you serious, Thomas?! You’re fighting with me for – for that – _thing_?”

“I don't even know what you're talking about,” Thomas responded indifferently, he was tired of talking, “He's just as human as me. Possibly _way_ more human than you.”

Minho took a hurt step back, and his eyes narrowed.

Thomas was grateful Gally had left, because Minho had been shouting for an hour straight and it wasn’t attractive in the slightest. Newt had escaped.

“Thomas, listen to me, man… Isaac is… Isaac is not good for you. _Please,_ Thomas. Trust me,” Minho sounded dangerously close to desperate, “He feels nothing foryou.”

“Yeah? What would you know, huh? Your big head is probably blocking all your thought process,” Thomas replied bitterly, putting up a cold resolve.

“For god’s sake, Williams! Try and see some sense!  _Listen_ to me, goddamnit!” A pained expression crossed the Asian boy’s face. “After all I’ve done to protect you…”

“You lis- Woah, woah, woah. Wait. _You_? _Protect **me**_?” Thomas chuckled derisively. “Reality check, Park. _You_ don’t protect _me_. I’m not yours _to_ protect.”

“Thomas, please. Isaac-”

“-cares for me! More than anyone ever has, more than you ever can, Minho! And he’s only known me a few days!” Thomas finally snapped, his breathing fastening in its pace.  “God forbid I be happy for once, right? It always has to be about you! You're even worse than Teresa!”

Anger burning in him still, Thomas turned and left the apartment he and Minho had shared for as long as Thomas could remember.

As Thomas got astride his bike, a certain Asian boy finally gave in to his feelings and let the tears go.

“I’m sorry…”

 

*

 

“What the hell.”

Thomas responded to Gally’s rather affectionate greeting with a bright smile, stepping inside the blond’s house without invitation.

“Look, Gally, I know we’ve never been the best of friends,” Thomas started, seating himself on a very ostentatious couch.

“Nicely noted,” Gally nodded, though he didn’t sound nasty at all.

It was one of Gally’s strange and rather unfair qualities.

The blond was one of the most aggressive, foul-mouthed people Thomas had ever had the pleasure to meet, yet when he spoke, he only ever came across as pleasant and quite mildly pure. He could be telling you to kiss Satan’s toenails and then throw yourself into his boiling human soup, while sounding like he was asking you over to a small personal tea-party.

It was pretty infuriating, really.

“I need your help,” Thomas looked at Gally pleadingly, ignoring the latter’s sarcastic reply of a few seconds ago. When Gally looked like he wanted to interrupt, Thomas put on an even more pleading expression, making him look somewhat constipated. “Please, Brooks. You know Minho like no one else – don’t give me that look, you do – like, what goes on _inside_ him. Not in the weird way. I mean like – He _tells_ you stuff. Personal stuff. The things he hides from me, even. His feelings. He tells you how he feels, you know? I want to talk to someone who knows him like the back of their hand, like the feel of their own skin. And only you know him like that... You're the only one he let know.”

Gally had been watching Thomas intently while the boy had been speaking, and when he stopped, the blond’s gaze fell to the ground.

“All I can tell you is that he really loves you,” Gally said quietly, after a few minutes of silence. “Like. Really, really, loves you. It makes me envy you sometimes. I _know_ it isn’t in the same way he likes me, but it’s his most profound form of it. He loves you with his best love. He would _kill_ people to protect you, Tom.”

Something in Gally’s voice told Thomas that the blond completely believed what he’d just said, and Thomas believed it too.

“He would do it for you, too, Brook-- Gally.”

“Don’t think so.”

“C’mon, dude. Many people would give anything to have what he feels for you. He’s like… _beautiful_ , man. _I_ would give anything to have what he feels for you. You should feel lucky, you know.”

“I do.”

And silence fell between them once again - but for the first time in Thomas’s life, he didn’t feel uncomfortable around Gally.

“So, about Newt…”

“Oh. Yeah. Isaac,” Gally rolled his eyes, the sentimental atmosphere vanishing. “How may I assist you, kind sir?” he teased.

“Well. You saw what Minho did to Newt, didn’t you? Do you think it was justified? Do you know why he flipped out like that? I mean… I can date whoever I want, right? He doesn’t own me.”

“What am I supposed to say to that? Of course Minho doesn’t own you. No one owns… anyone. But like I told you, he _cares_ about you, and...” Gally murmured.

“But he doesn’t! If he did, wouldn’t he want what is best for me?”

“Isaac _isn’t_ the best for you, Thomas.”

“Oh, never mind! Of course you would defend your boyfriend.”

“Why did you come here? What were you expecting, really? Besides, I think he's right. Isaac was... quite violent. He could hurt you.”

“I came here to tell you to tell Minho that I can do whatever the fuck I want without him bossing me around,” Thomas said to no one in particular.

“Can you?”

“For fuck’s sake! You’re all the same!”

He left yet another apartment that day in a fit of red rage, gone too soon to be able to hear Gally say:

“Fucking dramatic git.”

 

*

 

Thomas had no clue as to where he was going.

He knew he was probably overdramatizing, but he felt alone and lost and confused.

And he wanted to protect Newt.

All he wanted was to protect Newt.

But he also knew, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, that Minho felt the same about Thomas.  And to protect him… he could destroy Newt.

He _would_ destroy Newt.                                           

 

*

 

Thomas rode blindly around on his bike as the gathering dark clouds warned him of a heavy downpour.

Thunder and lightning shook the very ground, but Thomas kept going.

Tears and raindrops alike slid down his face in a rapid wet mess, and humidity made it difficult to breathe.

Thomas kept going.

It wasn’t until the friction of rubber tires on slippery wet ground threw him off his bike that even he realized where he was.

The forest.

 _Newt’s_ forest.

Again.

 

*

 

He recognized that he’d probably broken a bone when his third attempt to pull himself off the ground failed miserably.

Using his still reclining bike for support, however, Thomas stumbled into a standing position, grabbing the nearest, longest fallen tree branch he could find to help him walk – or rather, limp feebly. He occasionally shook it to get rid of any new wild bugs or ants that seemed to keep appearing from the wood’s very core.

Slowly and numbly, he started into the woods and towards the house.

He only had a vague idea of where he was going, his agonized, exhausted, pained mind was consumed by a single thought:

_He had to protect Newt._

 

*

 

After what seemed like a few days, Thomas found himself on Newt’s doorstep.

He was at conflict as to whether he should go inside – after all, this entire disaster was Thomas’s fault to begin with.

He shouldn't have followed Newt that day.

But if had the chance to fix things, he would do it again.

And again, and again, and again.

 

*

 

The house didn’t look as warm and comforting now as it had only a couple of days ago, it smelt of utter vacancy and was mostly unilluminated, soaked from the rain.

Thomas opened the door to no one - the living room was as if stripped deliberately of all life.

Thomas’s gaze eventually fell on the wooden staircase that lead to the upper story of the house, he’d never been _there_.

It was difficult to tell exactly how long it had taken Thomas to get up the very small flight of stairs - weak, bloody and injured as he was.

The hallway at the end of the stairway was a chilling place: dark, and damp, and emitting a very strong musky scent.

 

*

 

Thomas unbolted and checked inside all the doors, gradually becoming more and more apprehensive as to what he might find beyond the coverage of the thick wood.

His hands were shaking by the time he got to the last door, but he tried to comfort himself. _It was only Newt's house, right? What could be the worst thing?_

He hesitantly turned the knob which was now moist due to Thomas's sweaty palms.

At first, he saw nothing too extraordinary. It was a strange contrast to the outside, yes: sunny, warm and aromatic, but there was nothing in there that was too obscure or worrying.

That was until his eyes traveled to the bed in the very corner of the room - on which were seated two slender fingers, intertwined in each other.

_Kissing._

And Newt was one of them.

The two figures broke apart when they heard the door creak open, though. They both looked dazedly at the new arrival.

Newt’s lips tightened, though his face was unexpressive. He stepped towards Thomas almost as if trying to apologize - but Thomas was looking at the other boy, his breathing heavy and constricted.

Thomas recognized him instantly - It was his _classmate_.

It was Charlie, from Chemistry class, looking flushed and aroused and embarrassed and smug.

Because of Newt, in Newt’s house, having been on Newt’s bed, _with_ Newt.

Thomas stepped back farther from the blond who was still slowly shifting towards him, his mouth open as if he wished to explain what Thomas had just seen, somehow. Charlie watched them blankly, his hands in his pockets.

“You guys know each other?” he asked curiously, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“No,” Thomas replied, backing away rapidly until he was out of the room. And then, he sprinted out of the house.

What Thomas didn't see before he left were the two glistening, small red dents on Charlie's neck.

 

*

 

He could feel his injury worsening with every last mad dash he made, but he couldn’t stop if he tried.

He ran and ran and ran and didn't even stop to heave a breath.

Not until something forced him into a halt - not until he ran into someone.

Into the very last _someone_ Thomas wanted to see right then.

_Minho._

“Thomas?! What are you…? Oh my god.”

“M- Min-h-”

“Teresa called, told me to check on you. She does that a lot. Gally called to say that you’d turned up at his- Thomas, what happened? Why are you here? Your hands- Your knees- Thomas! Wake up, man! We need to get you to the hospital...”

Minho’s sentences turned into disjointed thoughts in Thomas’s head and finally deteriorated into unintelligible noise as Thomas felt himself losing consciousness.

He saw a blur of gold just before everything turned black, a cry escaped him before he lost his voice.

“ _Newt_ …” he whimpered.

“I’m going to kill him,” he _just_ caught someone muttering.

And then darkness engulfed him.


	4. Fill Me With Rage, And Bleed Me Dry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minho never was one for self salvation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, I have a bunch of things to say:  
> You might not really understand this chapter, but that's because there are more to come.  
> Suspense and all that, you know.  
> Second, excuse my Latin, I had to use google translate, okay? I'm not friends with Lydia Martin ;)  
> Third, this story is probably not going to go where you're expecting it to go.  
> Fourth, this story may not have a very happy ending. You have been warned.

“ _Tommy_?”

Thomas grumbled in his sleep. Newt’s soft voice seemed to echo on the blurry edges of his consciousness every time he gained even a sliver of strength; it maddened Thomas because the blond was the very last thing he wanted to think about just then.

“You awake?”

This soft whisper sounded really, dreadfully clear to be just another hallucination, though...

Thomas kept his eyes closed.

“I know you’re awake.”

Thomas sighed. He didn’t know what to do, really, or how to respond.

What he _did_ know, however, was that he’d been in the same uncomfortable bed for a couple of days now, and that he was surrounded by white walls and smells of rotting flowers and fruit, a smell that seemed to be originating from his bedside table.

“Are you disappointed?” Thomas finally asked, croakily, his eyes still screwed shut.

But keeping them closed was proving to be a very difficult task indeed when all he wanted was to catch a glimpse of that divine face. His heart and mind hurt from memories of the day that had lead him to be lying on this very bed, but he still wanted to look at Newt. To look at him and forget everything that had happened, maybe even have it all turn out to be an awful nightmare.

It was all just wishful thinking.

“What?”

“Are you disappointed that I’m awake?” Thomas repeated, an uncharacteristic coldness in his voice, he knew he overdramatizing, “Perhaps you’d have liked it better if I’d stayed asleep forever?”

“Thomas…”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Will you just –”

“I don’t even understand what I was expecting from you.”

Thomas finally let his eyes flutter open slowly, the sudden brightness burning his eyes. By the time Newt responded, however, they were more than used to it.

“Charlie and I…”

“Poor kid, that one,” Thomas cut Newt off mockingly. “Doesn’t understand who he’s dealing with. Doesn’t know that his cool _vampire boyfriend_ is too goooooood for everyoneeeee…”

All that morphine he'd been given seemed to be kicking in.

“Thomas, stop it! Look, I am sorry, okay? I can explain-”

“I’m sure you can,” Thomas struggled to sit up, but when Newt looked like he was about to help, the boy flinched away. Eventually, though, Thomas had managed to successfully - if a bit sorely – acquire a sitting position, his back against the cold metal bars of the hospital bed. “And I’m sure I’ll fall for it. _Again._ ”

“Thomas, I –”

“Just go, okay?! I won’t let anyone in on your little, uh, ‘secret’, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Thomas snapped, groaning when he aggravated one of his many injuries by too much movement, “You see, some of us are _trustworthy_.”

“Tom-”

“Leave him _alone_.”

This wasn’t Thomas or Newt, but a new, previously undetected presence in the room. A deeper voice.

Minho’s.

“Minho, I was just –” Newt looked horrified, his eyes apprehensive as they met Minho’s. They exchanged another, quieter conversation within their eyes, too quick for Thomas to see. Newt swallowed, another human response he’d gotten accustomed to performing while under stressful conditions.

“Go.”

“I- but-”

“Go. Now, _vampire._ ”

Thomas didn't have time to react to Minho's obvious knowledge of Newt's identity before the blond followed Minho’s orders instantly and almost obediently, jumping out of the window and seemingly disappearing mid-air within seconds.

“Minho- what-”

“Shhh, get some rest, tomboy. Then later we can have the cookies Gally made for you, together.”

“Gally made-?”

“Yep.”

“Oh. Okay, then.”

Thomas was too exhausted to say much else. Though Gally’s random act of kindness and Minho's awareness amazed Thomas greatly, he soon found himself drifting again into deep sleep.

 *

The second time Thomas woke up, he was definitely alone in the room.

“Minho…?”

His wounds hurt considerably less, and he could sit up with a slightly reduced effort than he had before.

There were crutches beside his bed, and they made Thomas curious.

If they had been put there, it obviously meant that he could now walk, right?

_Right?_

And so he got up off his bed, occasionally wincing when he disturbed an injury that hadn’t properly healed yet, and with the support of the crutches, stood up completely.

He ached all over; his knees were wobbly due to inactivity for such a length of time – but he was standing. And, he could walk. So he did, despite the immense amount of discomfort it caused him.

In his defense, he was _bored_.

Thomas limped out of the room at a snail’s pace, and started out almost excitedly on his pursuit to find Minho, hoping the journey would be adventurous.

It took him a while to realize that the reason no one had caught him out of bed yet was that it was nighttime.

Very _late_ nighttime.

Minho was probably asleep, if he was even in the hospital at all.

Still he checked inside every room – every room that wasn’t locked, anyway; his actions made him feel a sense of déjà vu…

Thomas walked on, until he heard a familiar voice – muffled through a thick, almost opaque glass door on his right.

The same voice that had interrupted Newt and Thomas earlier that day.

“Minh-?”

Thomas stepped back and let out a low gasp when he pushed the door slightly ajar to see his friend. Minho hadn’t heard him, and Thomas was glad.

The Asian boy was shirtless, his modoré skin glistening with sweat as he leaned over something Thomas couldn’t see, panting.

The room was an empty, forgotten place with dirty walls and peeling paint and a pungent smell. It felt _wrong_ , like it wasn’t supposed to exist in a location as sanitary and welcoming as this hospital.

And there was a noise. A constant muttering, vibrating, chant-like sound filled the saturated warm air.

_bonum vincit, malum esse desinet._

_haec carmina cantare, et simul mederi malis._

_et cantantes canticum istud vobis in auxilium humanum conservare humanitatem._

_accipe, et mactet, et sacrificium, tueri bonos mala mori._

 It was indeed Minho, and the chanting seemed perilously like magic because a strange, thin, gold  _glow_ seemed to be outlining his entire frame, becoming more distinct with every jagged word the boy uttered.

Thomas had seen enough in the last few days to know the explanation wasn't entire implausible, and that daunted him.

He had no clue as to what the words might mean, or what Minho was trying to do at all, but he  _did_ know that it had much to do with him and… Isaac. And that whatever it was, it was not good.

_Isaac was in danger._

Minho was going to hurt Isaac.

Minho was going to ruin Newt.

 _Thomas’s_ Newt.

*

“There would be no turning back after this, Raxenus.”

“Just do it,” Minho urged.

“I’ve met countless Favisori, boy, yet never one like you,” the strange man in the black silk robes said, his voice amused but somehow also frightening, low. “Thomas Williams is in love with the monster, you say so yourself. He would do anything to shield it. He will run away, he will kill, he will sacrifice. He will _hide_ it. And if, after this, for whatever reason, we can’t destroy it, you shall have to pay the price. You will have to _be_ the price. Usually Favisori use someone else, another body, so they can remain with their Ordinem. Think: does the monster live on, you will have to perish in its place, Raxenus. You have one last chance to back out.”

"You will get him, " Minho looked up at the man with meaningful eyes before hesitantly shutting them, and swallowed. His throat was dry and his hands shook as he tentatively held them out to the Vrozhnev, “I’m ready.”

The old man nodded after a while, eyes not leaving Minho’s face. He smiled.

“Very well,” he said, and then looked back at the two shadow-like figures that had, until now, stood behind him inaudibly. “Drogus, Gomule. Hold him. And do be gentle.”

The two figures – Drogus and Gomule – slid smoothly towards Minho and seized him in a way that let only his arm remain mobile.

The other man unhurriedly pulled something out - something that looked only partly like a knife and more like a light blue, marble-like stone - of the inside of his cloak. He pressed it against Minho’s extended arm, and gave the boy one last searching look.

When Minho nodded, the man shook his head and dug his contrivance into the sweaty bronze skin before him - eventually drawing blood from a fresh scarlet gash.

“The process is almost complete, I’m afraid.”


	5. To Be Loved, And To Be In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt was unlovable. Newt was cruel, ruthless, brutal and unapologetic about it all. Newt was as monster as monsters got.  
> But Thomas loved Newt. And Newt was trying to be better. Newt was almost _human_ for Thomas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MINALLY WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME. that is all.

“Do you like them?”

“Yeah, man. They’re actually really... mmmh... _good_ ,” Thomas mumbled, nodding approvingly, his mouth disgustingly full of chocolate chip deliciousness.

“I’m glad,” Gally smiled, seating himself down on one of the hospital chairs. “How’re you recovering? We still got that charity marathon coming up, remember?”

“Oh, crap,” Thomas said with feeling, sending bits of soggy, nauseating, chewed up food flying in Gally’s direction, who pulled a face and shifted away. “I really wanted to do that thing. Other than that… I’m fine, I guess. I’ll be up and ready for the marathon by tomorrow, even!”

Gally rolled his eyes, and took the basket of cookies from Thomas’s hands.

“You’re gonna upset your stomach if you eat so many at once,” Gally frowned, looking confused as to why he was acting so motherly, but continuing with his actions, “Besides, we need to save some for Min.”

“Oh, yeah,” Thomas agreed, his brows furrowing thoughtfully, looking longingly at the cookies still. “Where _is_ he, anyway?”

“I was in the toilet,” Minho replied, striding across the room and towards the bed. “Did you guys save anything for me?”

“ _I_ only had one,” Gally said defensively. “Tommyboy here, on the other hand, had 11. There’s three left for you.”

“Jesus, dude. Where do you fit all that in?” Minho shook his head in mock incredulousness, chuckling and popping half a warm cookie in his mouth.

He pulled another chair out from the side of the bed next to them, and seated himself.

“Oh, Thomas, by the way. Uh…” Minho looked uncomfortable. “Teresa’s coming home.”

“What?!”

“Yeah… I delayed her visit to you, though. She was insisting on seeing you first. I convinced her for tomorrow.”

“But _why_ is she coming?”

“I just told you. To check on you,” Minho restated. When Thomas raised his eyebrows, though, he sighed exasperatedly. “Gally, would you give us a minute.”

Gally widened his eyes in a gesture equivalent to the words “Okay then…” and left the room without argument.

“Is it for the satanic voodoo stuff you’re doing?” Thomas asked quietly.

Minho flinched a little at the devil's name, as if it burnt him, “What?”

“Drop the act, Park. I _saw_ you,” Thomas said, his eyes glued to his hands, which were playing nervously with the bedsheets, “That night. As far as I’m concerned, you weren’t preparing for any upcoming school musicals. The Latin was a bit of a giveaway.”

“Thomas…” Minho looked like he was desperately trying to grab onto an appropriate excuse, “She’s your sister. She’s worried about yo-”

“She hasn’t called me in two _years_ ,” Thomas snapped. “And we’re not even related.”

“She _has_ tried. You just never pick up. And if it wasn’t for her that day, I doubt you’d be alive.”

“Just…” Thomas dropped the topic, feeling too tired to argue. “Just tell me the truth, please. What were you trying to do?”

“Trying to keep you safe.”

“By killing Newt?”

“He’s already dead!”

Thomas didn’t reply. Instead, he stared blankly at Minho, the Asian boy squirming under the intensity of the gaze.

“He hurt you that day, Thomas,” Minho said, his voice croaky. “In the forest. You didn’t get like that all by yourself…”

“Yes, I did! I got into an accident, and in case you hadn’t noticed, Newt wasn’t even there.”

“He was, Thomas. He was there the whole time. He stood far away, but I saw him. He _said_ he’d done that to you, it was just his luck that you were dying and I didn't have time to finish him right then and there,” Minho said.

“He didn’t…”

“Just trust me this once, okay?” Minho begged, his voice never getting louder, uncharacteristically for him. “Don’t worry about it. Isaac isn’t human. Nothing they do can really hurt him.”

“" _They_ "?”

“The… The hunters. The Vrozhnev.”

“Who? What?”

“Vampire hunters.”

And then Thomas was crying. They were frustrated, angry tears on the surface, but consisted of a whirlwind of other sentiments if one was to dig deeper. 

He was too young. Too young to be dealing with all of this, all of this overwhelming pain and confusion and necessity of maturity that had been thrust upon him so suddenly.

And Minho held his friend the entire time he cried, not speaking a word for he knew it would do no good, just holding in an earnest embrace.

Thomas’s sobs eventually subsided, turned into dry sniffs. He clutched the back of Minho’s shirt in a childlike manner from where he was sitting on the hospital bed, the side of his head pressed against Minho’s stomach as his friend was standing.

“Please don’t take him away from me,” he mumbled.

“It’s for your own good.”

“I don’t _want_ good. I want him.”

“I’m sorry, Tom.”

 

 *

 

Thomas was finally alone in his hospital room when Newt showed up.

Except he didn’t look like Newt.

His hair was a chaos, but not in the attractive way that it usually was. His eyes were without their usual glimmer, and his clothes were torn in various places – the tears looked formidably like they’d been put there by fingernails. His face looked gaunt and his body, starved, and that intimidated Thomas significantly.

“Hey.”

Thomas didn’t respond, just looked at Newt with a pained expression.

“I’m sorry about… what happened… the last time I showed up,” Newt continued when he got no response, his usually strong, confident voice a mere mutter.

The blond sat down on one of the hard steel stools next to Thomas’s bed, and smiled.

It was a genuine, caring smile with no hidden maliciousness underneath.

None that Thomas could see, anyway.

Thomas turned his face away.

“I… I heard what Minho said. About the Vrozhnev," he said the last word like it was bitter in his mouth, "And, uh… I don’t want you to worry. It was going to happen someday, anyway.”

“I’m not worried.”

Newt chuckled humorlessly.

“When I heard Minho, Tommy, I heard you too.”

“Well, not all of us can be heartless vampires. Breaking news.”

Newt flinched, but seemed to accept the hit as if he felt like he deserved it. Slowly, gently, he grasped Thomas’s face and turned it back to him.

He held the soft, fragile human skull in his hands for some time, wordlessly. Newt's eyes searched Thomas's face as Thomas screwed his eyes shut, his lips pressed together, but never made an attempt to free himself.

“I’m so sorry,” Newt said again in a concluding manner, finally letting go of Thomas, and getting up.

The blond went on to unfasten a thin golden necklace from around his own neck; laid it on Thomas’s torso, smiling sadly. A small, ruby red pendant hung from the chain.

“Stay,” Thomas said, eyes closed still as he called to Newt, who was almost out the door – he was using it to keep up with his human façade. “Sleep with me.”

 

 *

 

“Hey.”

“Uh… Hello. I’m Teresa… Teresa Agnes?”

“So I’ve been told,” Gally grinned, letting the girl into Thomas and Minho’s apartment. “I’m Galileo Brooks. Please don’t call me that, I was being formal. I’m Gally.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Gally,” Teresa shook hands with the boy, winking.

“…Agnes.”

Teresa’s smile vanished as she turned away from Gally and let her eyes fall on the other boy in the room.

“Park.”

Gally raised his eyebrows at no one in particular, and looked away.

“Uh… Well… I’ll go make us some coffee, yeah?” he asked in half-hearted attempt at sounding cheery, “Teresa, d’ya wanna help?”

“Sure.”

Minho shot Teresa a thankful smile before she turned to follow Gally into the kitchen, and the girl returned it with just as much gratefulness. It was gone too quickly for Gally to notice.

The smile was something exchanged between old friends, rather than ex-lovers.

 

 *

 

“What?”

“I just asked you to sleep with me,” Thomas clarified. “Not - Not like that. Just… be here. Be here with me while I sleep, please?”

Thomas could have sworn he saw something in Newt’s eyes light up with his words.

Thomas was still confused and angry with Newt, but his adolescent craving for affection overpowered all his other senses.

Newt moved slowly back towards Thomas’s bed, and sat back down on his former seat. All the while his eyes were glued on Thomas.

Thomas seemed to finally register the presence of the gift on his chest, and unhurriedly held it against the light to see what it was without getting up.

The gemstone caught the artificial light of a fluorescent lamp and glistened in Thomas’s eye, who then lowered it down and pressed it against his heart.

He conceded that this present held high value for Newt.

“Why…?” he struggled to form the question.

“Because you deserve every good thing I have and more to make up for what I’ve done to you. And I intend to make it up to you before they… before they put me down,” Newt swallowed, and put his hand on Thomas’s where it lay on his chest, and Thomas put his other hand on both of their intertwined ones. It was obvious that the idea of ceasing to exist was still a hard one for Newt to consider.

They stayed in that position for a long while, and Thomas was almost on the brink of sleep when he quietly asked: “Why did you do it?”

“…They’re going to kill me, Tommy. Like they killed my innocent father. I want to make this execution worth it.”

“Making out with some random dude you’ve never talked to before is enough to make being assassinated worth it for you?”

“It wasn’- I wasn’t- ,” Newt looked ashamed of himself, though Thomas didn’t know how; the blond’s face was still completely pale. “I didn’t do anything with him, Thomas. I was – I was trying to – I was trying to-”

"-trying to what, goddamn it!"

"T-to s- To drink his blood! To _feed_!" Newt yelled quietly. "Happy?"

Thomas just about jumped awake at this confession, but was held back by his injuries.

“What?!”

“I am a _vampire_ , Thomas. Human blood is the finest thing I can acquire. Yes, that's what I was doing. Yes, that will make “dying” worth it for me.”

“You were going to _kill_ some random kid from high school just for your satisfaction?!”

Isaac sighed.

“I didn't kill him, and wasn't going to. In fact, I'm sure he enjoyed it more than anything else. And... Look, Tommy… I do not have the ability to _feel_ the way you can. I can’t _feel_ guilt. Or empathy, or contempt. Or jealousy. Or sorrow. Or compassion, as much as you’d like to believe otherwise. The only reason I haven’t destroyed everything in my wake is because humans are curious and cunning and a monster’s biggest priority is self-preservation. We’re not as glorious and civilized as they make us out to be on screen or contemporary literature, Thomas. Killing a man wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary for a creature like me – _not_ doing so is. The only human thing I’m still capable of feeling now, Thomas, is love - love and all it's supplemental sentiments. _You_ made me realize that I could still feel them,” Newt clutched at his hair in what could have passed as frustration - if Newt had been human. Thomas realized that as someone who didn’t belong in the mortal world, Newt seemed to fit in better than most. “I would say I’m sorry for what you saw me doing, just to make you feel better, but I don’t want to lie anymore. I’m not. I’m not sorry. I was doing what I’m _supposed_ to be doing. I was serving the _purpose_ of my existence. I was doing not only what I _need_ to do, but also what I _wanted_ to do. Feeding straight out of a human body with a heart that still beats provides us with an unfathomable pleasure that no other thing can ever compare with. I cannot deny that I’ve missed that feeling, Thomas. _That_ is what I _can_ feel. Animalistic satisfaction at winning over a prey. It’s all feral, blood-thirsty beast inside me, Thomas. I never claimed to be an inculpable, moral being. I told you I was dangerous on the very first day. But… But I need you to believe in me when I say I love you. I love you with every last remaining gasp of humanity I can muster inside of me, small as it may be. I feel nothing for Charlie, or anyone else. I feel everything I’m capable of feeling for _you_.”

Thomas closed his eyes again, at battle with himself. A battle that he was aware was impossible to win.

He sighed, and, instead of replying, he pressed his lips against Newt’s in an action that gave away everything he couldn’t find the words for.

Thomas was naïve and young, but he wasn’t stupid. He _knew_ Newt didn’t deserve forgiveness, but he also knew Newt couldn’t be blamed for anything he’d done. His head was still dizzy with everything Newt had said as the heated contact with the blond started electric fires in his gut, a reaction to the vampire he'd gotten used to in what he knew was a dangerously short time.

Newt was unlovable. Newt was cruel, ruthless, brutal, and unapologetic about it all. Newt was as monster as monsters got.

But Thomas loved Newt. And Newt was trying to be better. Newt was almost _human_ for Thomas.

The kiss was broken only when a single tear rolled down Thomas’s cheek, the emotional turbulence in his head getting the better of him.

Newt took Thomas in his arms.

And that night, as Thomas wept for how much Newt loved him, Newt almost did for how much he couldn’t in return. 

 

 *

 

“She asleep?”

“Yeah. Told me she was gonna go unpack… found her passed out on the couch. Must’ve been a long journey,” Gally said, flopping down uncannily close to Minho on the couch and stealing the T.V. remote, “Oh god... You’re not watching Harry Potter again.”

“But I am,” Minho replied playfully, wiggling his eyebrows at his boyfriend and stealing the remote back. “I just couldn’t _help_ but admire how good sweaty Cedric Diggory looks…”

“Hey!”

“Well, you know, I wouldn’t feel the need to admire Mr. Diggory if-”

Minho was cut off by Gally, who shook his head amusedly and pulled their mouths into a fiery, passionate embrace. This was their longest and neediest as of yet, and that was saying something.

“What is it with you and Teresa?” Gally blurted out when they finally broke apart, his face flushed and mouth swollen. He couldn’t have held the question in for any longer if he’d tried.

"That’s not a very romantic,” Minho frowned, his voice croaky and breathless from the kiss. “...It was nothing. Honestly. We went out back in 9th grade. Let’s just say it didn’t end nicely. You know how girls are in high school.”

It sounded like a well-practiced lie, and Gally didn't entirely believe it.

"She seems okay to me," Gally shrugged.

"Well, she isn't in high school anymore."

“But…”

“Don’t worry about it, Gally. It didn’t mean anything. Not to her and never to me.”

“But I can't help it! You're the only thing I give two fucks about, and so I do. I do worry. I worry about you a lot,” Gally said, his eyes conveying that he was talking about more than just Minho’s ex-girlfriends, "It's pathetic."

It finally hit Minho how much Gally didn’t know, and how much he deserved to.

Minho felt his heart tighten painfully as he pulled Gally’s face in his hands, his lips trembling. The excitement they’d felt moments ago was now replaced with a more mature sadness – it was one of the few moments before adulthood when it hit youths that soon they’d have to fend for themselves.

Minho’s heart broke at the thought of what he might lose because of his sacrifice. What he might lose if Newt got away.

He would _never_ let Newt get away.

“Just remember. If anything happens to me, just remember that… that I left happy. Whenever the darkness decides to take me, I will be leaving _happy_ \- and I want you to know that it will only be because I had you,” Minho breathed. “Because I _have_  you, and because you’ll always have me. I know this mess we’re in confuses the life out of you and that you want immensely to understand what’s going on, come what may. Just know that when the time comes, you will. I-it may be sooner than you expect. Just… Just remember that every day I’ve struggled to breathe, _you_ made everything worth fighting for. And if a day comes where I can't fight anymore, just know that it was you who kept me holding on when I was.”

“Stop this, Minho, please! Stop it! You... Why are you saying things like this?” Gally whispered, his voice uncharacteristically broken as only Minho had ever heard it, his tone putting across words any young boy would have been too embarrassed to speak. “Tell me, please, and I promise I won’t let anything happen to you... I swear. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please don't... go anywhere. Please don't leave me. Please. I don't know what you're fighting for, but fight for longer, please, and I swear I'll make it worth it.”


	6. All That Is Broken, And All That Is True

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a long wait, no? but it's extra extra extra long to compensate, so... enjoy! :D  
> I think you'd like to know this is the second last chapter in this fanfic <3

They hadn’t planned on it, exactly. But it had happened and the strangely exciting realization dawned on Thomas heavily as he struggled to wake the next morning.

Newt and Thomas had made love.

Well, not “made love” in the… you know, cinematic, glorious manner. It had been more like two young boys awkwardly grinding naked bodies against one another on a hospital bed and creating friction until Thomas couldn’t keep his pleasure in anymore, but it had still been amazing, okay? As amazing as it could get for anyone with a still recovering broken leg.

Thomas knew he shouldn’t have been disappointed when Newt never came, the blonde was hardly to blame for it.  Of course he hadn’t come, Thomas thought, how could he have?

But it still nagged at Thomas, making him wonder if he would’ve been able to drive Newt to his climax if he’d been human.

But he could only wonder.

It was a trivial musing, taking into account the last few days.

Thomas was just starting to ponder over if Newt had left when the boy stepped out of the chamber bathroom, looking way more like himself than Thomas had seen him in a while. The way the blond ran his fingers through his now back-to-shiny-golden hair was strangely reminiscent of that very first day Thomas and Minho had observed him, when he’d been stepping out of his art class with smudged paint on his face.

 _Angelic,_ Thomas had thought back then.

 _Angelic_ , Thomas thought now, his breathing hitching in his throat as he watched Newt’s red lips curl into an ever so slight grin because he had caught Thomas staring.

“Good Morning, my beloved,” Newt mouthed at Thomas, smiling.

Thomas thought he might pass out.

It was as if the hellish past few days had never happened.

Newt seated himself on one of the uncomfortable chairs next to Thomas’s bed, and took the boy’s hand in his.

“Did you sleep well?” Thomas asked playfully.

“Hardy har har,” Newt rolled his eyes. “I read. I finished _the greatest of Shakespeare_.”

“You’re kidding.”

“What?” Newt looked genuinely confused.

“That book is humongous.”

Newt shrugged, and made an “are you really surprised” face.

“Not for me. Running isn’t the only thing I can do fast.”

“Why do you even read? Obviously it doesn’t make you feel anything, right?”

“Hey!” Newt put on an expression of mock hurt. “I’m used to it, I guess. I still have to study for school, you know. Sadly, vampire-ness doesn’t come with heightened intellect. The syllabus keeps changing every few years. It also helps me to… understand how humans work. How to fit in, and stuff, you know.”

“Shakespearean writing isn’t a very good example of real life, just saying.”

“Huh. It worked for me. I read it because the way he wrote is easier for me to understand.”

“Ah, okay,” Thomas sighed, and scowled. “I wish they’d let me out of here.”

“They are,” When Thomas looked at Newt blankly, the boy added, “They let you go today, don’t you remember?”

Thomas couldn't believe he’d forgotten.

“Oh, yeah! Oh, thank god,” Thomas moaned, “I’m so glad I could fuck a horse.”

“Should I be offended?” Newt asked, his brows furrowed. “Your standards are fairly low.”

Instead of replying, Thomas kissed Newt, laughing.

“You are an idiot,” Thomas said against Newt’s mouth, “You are such an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot, though, right?” Newt asked, pouting and widening his eyes at Thomas.

Thomas grimaced.

“You’ve been reading too much Shakespeare.”

“That was not Shakespeare.”

“Shut up.”

“Kiss me.”

“Okay.”

 

*  

             

Thomas had never felt more hygienic. He had spent at least an hour in the bath, and with lots of difficulty had made Newt promise he won’t look. It was hard for Thomas to comprehend what Newt found so captivating about his body, it was like an ugly, beaten down version of his own.

“Ms. Agnes paid for your care,” Thomas’s nurse told him, ripping the hospital band off his wrist in a way that suggested that she couldn’t care less about his wellbeing. “Have a good day.”

Newt was waiting outside, and Thomas left the hospital rolling his eyes. He grabbed an unsuspecting vampire’s hand, and marveled over how amazing it was that they fit perfectly together.

Thomas had on a plain black shirt with mustard colored pants – which had been lying, gift wrapped, on his bedside table earlier during the day and still smelt of brand store. A gift that Newt insisted was totally not from him.

“I convinced the doctors, somehow, to not let Park or Agnes know that you’re leaving today,” Newt said matter-of-factly as they got into his shiny black car. Newt also had a car. “You can give them a surprise, if you like. Besides, I wanted you for myself for a bit.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Of course I’m not, Thomas,” Newt looked at Thomas incredulously. “Minho doesn't seem to like me much. I…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay… I get it.”

The rest of the drive to Thomas and Minho’s apartment was a silent one, the only sound was that of the tranquil old-fashioned music Newt was playing.

When they finally reached their destination, Newt planted a short kiss on Thomas’s forehead before the boy could get out.

“Uh… thanks,” Thomas muttered awkwardly, hastily getting out of the car.

This was new.

“Goodbye, Thomas… I... uh. I love you.”

And as he watched Newt slowly pull his car out of the driveway in a most human fashion, it hit Thomas why the vampire was acting so strange.

It hit Thomas like a bullet square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him.

Today was the day.

The Vrozhnev were coming.

 

*

 

“Welcome back,” Thomas almost jumped at the sudden noise. He’d forgotten he was still standing outside, dazedly watching after Newt, lost in thought.

“You knew I was coming?”

“Of course I did,” Minho shrugged, coming up next to Thomas and letting his eyes settle into the same empty part of black road as the boy. “I thought I’d let him be with you one last time.”

Thomas didn’t act upon the anger that surged inside him at those words.

Instead, he calmly declared, “This is all your fault” to no one in particular.

Minho took Thomas’s hand, and gave it a little squeeze.

“I know,” Minho whispered, and for the first time since Thomas could remember, he sounded as if actually understood. But obviously he didn't, “I’m sorry.”

Thomas let his vision blur as tears welled up uncontrollably in his eyes.

“I hate you,” Thomas mumbled against Minho’s chest after being pulled into a tight embrace.

 

*

 

“Hey, Thomas.”

Thomas tried his best to not meet Teresa’s eyes, still weary from what felt like hours of crying.

“Thomas,” Minho urged quietly, when Thomas didn’t respond.

“What,” Thomas snapped, looking Minho straight in the eye and taking the Asian boy by surprise.

When Minho didn’t reply, Thomas turned to Teresa, breathing heavily. Gally just watched the approaching quarrel unfold, not saying a word. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently.

“What,” Thomas took deep breaths with every word, “Do. You. Want.”

The creepy huge smile she’d been wearing vanished.

“Thomas…”

“Actually, no, never mind. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Pleas-”

“Shut up! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! You haven’t talked to me in five years! FIVE FUCKING YEARS! NOT EVEN ONCE! NOT EVEN ON MY BIRTHDAYS, NOT ON YOURS, NOT ON NEW YEARS, NOT EVER!” Thomas gave up all pretense. “And now, when I least want you around, you turn up with that – that fucking smirk plastered on your face like nothing ever happened. Why are you here, huh?” Thomas almost spat in Teresa’s face, who looked uncharacteristically vulnerable. “Why are you here?” Thomas repeated softly.

“I…” Teresa looked very close to tears, and Minho and Gally were watching them with their mouths hanging open in horror.

“Just. Just leave,” Thomas said, turning away and rubbing his forehead gently so as to ease the pain. His leg was hurting again, the walking aid he had on didn’t help much.

“I can’t,” Teresa said finally.

“Why not?! You didn’t have much trouble staying away for the last few _years_.”

“ _Because_ you need me.”

Thomas snorted.

“Big talk. I’ve done fine by myself for a long time now, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Not… not like that. Thomas, I…”

“You know what? Do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care. He’s going to die today and none of you can – or wish to –”, he looked pointedly at Minho, “-help.”

And with that, Thomas ran as fast as he could out of the house again.

 

* 

 

Thomas found Newt a little way farther than his house, almost at the end of the forest. For some reason, when Thomas hadn’t found Newt in his house, he'd intuitively felt that he should go deeper into the forest. And Thomas never gave ideas that popped into his head a second thought, so here he was.

Thomas remembered his first time he’d entered the forest. He remembered being amazed and exhausted by how big it was. He remembered every different scent he had inhaled that day. He remembered the sound of the overgrown weed being crushed under his feet, and the sound of millions of different birds chirping in high-pitched symphony. He remembered it being cold, yet warmer than it was now. He remembered his first encounter with that big wooden house, and the horrors he’d witnessed inside. He remembered _fearing_ Newt.

It felt like centuries had passed.

Because today, as he ran as fast as he could in his voyage to find Newt, he could only feel all those wonderful first feelings like a flashback. He didn’t want to lose any of the time he had left. He hated to think of it.

He was surprised at finding himself unsurprised when he found Newt standing facing what looked like a never-ending lake, motionless.

Thomas felt his heart shrivel and burn up in his chest.

Newt looked so calm, so... beautiful.

He couldn’t let Minho do this.

“Missed me?” came a soft, eerie voice from the dark water.

 

*

 

“This is beautiful,” Thomas breathed.

“Isn’t it?” Newt replied, his tone unreadable. “Never got to show you.”   

Thomas almost laughed at the sarcasm that laced Newt's voice.

_They'd never had the time._

He didn't laugh.

Thomas gently pulled Newt’s hand in his, and gave it an almost negligible squeeze.

Time seemed to have slowed down, pleasantly.

Newt turned to look at Thomas, his smile filled with a sorrow so deep and aged that no mortal being could have worn it.

“You know, Tommy,” Newt whispered, the cold breeze from the lake carrying his words away almost instantly once they’d been spoken, “You should never have kissed me.”

“Are you saying you’d rather you had killed me?”

“I wasn’t going to kill you, Thomas,” Newt screwed his eyes shut, feeling weaker than he had in years, “and definitely not after being that close to you. You... Being that close to you made me feel something I hadn’t felt for a very long time… To the point where I thought I’d lost the ability to. I was going to turn you, turn you into a monster like me, so you’d have to stay with me. So I wouldn’t lose that feeling again. I’m so sorry for that, Thomas, so very sorry. That idea has never turned out well for me. Sometimes I lose myself to the vampire… and you don’t have to forgive me. I’ll understand if you never do. But I want you to know that when you kissed me, I changed my mind. Because… because I knew you weren’t going to leave anyway.”

And then Thomas kissed Newt, a kiss filled with the fire of a lover from eras long gone and the passion of an adolescent boy.

“I hate you,” he said.

“Thank you.”

And Thomas kissed him again, this time softer, gentler, healing. A kiss that proved him a liar. He remembered the night before, how vulnerable Newt had been, and suddenly nothing else mattered. He forgave Newt for everything the vampire had ever done.

Because somehow he knew he would choose Newt if given a billion other chances to make things different, every time, in every life, in every universe. He knew that Newt had ruined him for anyone else, and knew that even in the long years to come, there would be no one else who, willingly or unwillingly, could make Thomas feel like this. Make him feel like he was ready to sacrifice himself over and over for someone. Like he was in _love_. Like he’d found his lover, his anchor, his soulmate, his everything.

His _beloved_.

“Take my hand,” Newt said.

Thomas looked at him in confusion, disoriented after having been snapped out of his reverie, but obeyed.

And suddenly he was on Newt’s back, his legs straddling Newt’s chest.

“What-”

And they were flying – there was no other word for it – over the lake, Newt gliding through the air with a seamless ease, ending the voyage by grabbing onto a tree branch from the forest on the other side of the water body. They had flown within instants over the lake that looked to Thomas as if it went on for miles and miles, and Newt, after taking one look at Thomas’s face, was laughing –

And as cliché as it sounded, it was indeed the best sound Thomas had ever heard - the rare occurrence of a crack in Newt’s usually indifferent composure a wonderful feat in itself. It was the kind of laugh which, had it been coming from mortals, would have brought tears to their eyes – a laugh of not a care in the world, just the pure joy and mirth of the moment. Newt’s body shook against Thomas’s front, and though Thomas couldn’t see Newt’s face, knew the look of such unadulterated elation on Newt’s face would have been a striking view indeed. Something about the laugh made Thomas think of a young prince, with flyaway golden hair and dark eyes that shone under the sun as he rode through a forest with rays of light seeping through the canopy of wild trees, on an elegant silver-white horse; a longsword in his hand with a royal family crest on the hilt, and guard knights following his lead and seeking to protect their master.

An illustration from his history book.

Thomas buried his face into Newt’s shoulder, and was engulfed by the sweet scent of hospital shampoo and forest and vampire.

“Stop making fun of me,” he murmured.

“You are quite delightful,” Newt said, swinging from tree to tree with a grace that made it hard to believe that they were moving at all. Thomas didn’t dare look down.

““Delightful?” What the hell does that mean?”

“It was quite a common term for “cute” in my time. My time as in… when I was not… like this. Although I do admit it sounds strange saying it now,” Newt frowned, and Thomas suddenly missed the warmth of the few moments of the vampire’s glee with a great yearning.

“It doesn’t,” Thomas protested, “call me anything you want. Except Donald Trump, because that’s just offensive.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“That surely wasn’t nothi- _sacré bleu, Tommy_.”

And it was _oh my god_ indeed, because when Newt turned his head to look at Thomas, he saw that the boy’s shirt was now hanging off a rogue bough and had acquired a big tear across the middle, rendering its wearer topless in the chilly breeze.

“Damn it, Tommy,” Newt said, and let go of the tree he was holding, meaning there was nothing holding them up in the air anymore and they were falling.

 _I’m going to die,_ Thomas thought in the few moments he had before they hit the ground, which they did softly and without the slightest of hindrance.

Thomas slowly opened his eyes, not even having realized he’d closed them, and found himself in Newt’s arms rather than on his back. He was holding on to Newt’s T-shirt tightly enough for it to now be wrinkled, he noted with deep embarrassment.

Newt’s arms were soft yet solid under him, assuring him that there was not one chance that he might fall. The blond was looking down at him with profound amusement and… Thomas realized with a jolt, affection.

 _Maybe I’m already in heaven_ , he thought.

“You alright?” the vampire asked as Thomas uncomfortably and – though he’d never tell Newt – regretfully got to his own feet, which were jelly. His knees gave out and he collapsed on the ground, but he was laughing. He was aware of Newt joining him where he was sitting and gazing at him worriedly, and he squeezed the vampire’s hand of stone.

“I’ve never been alrighter,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes, knowing it was true under its cover of cinematic romantic cheesiness.

He suddenly felt warmth around his freezing body, and for a moment had the foolishly sentimental thought that it was perhaps the warmth of love, before realizing that Newt had put on him his shirt and jacket, both unbuttoned on Thomas’s back in a way that made the clothes resemble a cape.

When Thomas looked at Newt inquiringly, the blond shrugged, and said, “I don’t get cold.”

“Oh.”

Thomas was intensely aware of the fact that Newt was now half naked, and despite their intimacy last night, he couldn’t help the brilliant fires that erupted in his gut and the hair that stood on his arms at the view. If heaven had a body, Thomas knew, it would look just like this. He suddenly felt insecure and incompetent, and pressed his mouth on the surprised and flustered and fucking obliviously _hot_ vampire’s to assure himself that this was real and this ethereally magnificent creature wanted _him_ , even if the feeling didn’t compare to Thomas’s desire even remotely.

Newt’s hands ran up and down Thomas’s back as he deepened their embrace and closed the small space between them, skillfully extorting a soft whimper from Thomas’s lips - which thrashed desperately against his - and with one hand he carefully buttoned up his lover’s clothing so Thomas was no longer shirtless.

It was comical, almost, how he was dressing Thomas up rather than down considering the way they were kissing so hungrily, but “You _do_ get cold,” Newt explained between the struggled breathing he didn’t really need to do.

When finally they broke away, it was dark and they were lying on the prickly grass of the forest and looking up at the stars - with Thomas happier than he remembered ever being before. Newt’s pale and exposed torso glistened magically in the moonlight, and really Thomas found it much more mesmerizing than the nearly starless sky above them. He longed to touch the skin that stretched tightly over Newt’s ribs, but acknowledging that he was both exhausted and in no condition to get into the fiery situation that would surely escalate from there, he resisted.

“It’s almost time,” Newt said, looking as if he were reading the sky.

 _Maybe he can_ , Thomas thought. There were many things he had yet to learn about his immortal lover.

“Time for what?” he asked, and was surprised to hear his voice come out croaky and weak.

Newt turned to Thomas with a look in his eyes so unguarded, he wondered if it was meant for him at all. There was so much love in that gaze, so much sadness and so much regret and yearning and so much _humanity_ , it left Thomas drained of anything to say that was worthy of the moment and of Newt.

“Time for my extensive and honestly wearisome life to come to an end,” Newt said, with such definiteness that Thomas had a hard time registering it was actually _Newt_ who was speaking.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Thomas said sharply, sitting up.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Newt said, but his tone was placid.

“I won’t let them touch you.”

Newt chuckled bitterly, also sitting up, not looking at Thomas.

“Look, Tommy, these guys, they’re… powerful, you know? There’s nothing I, you or _anyone_ can do to stop them. Though I don’t see why anyone would want to. Stop them, I mean. I’ve been trying to stay out of their way for years and _years_ ,” Newt said exasperatedly, playing with the grass under his feet seemingly absentmindedly. Thomas knew better; he knew how hard Newt had to try to maintain the feeble grasp on the plant. It was not hard to tell, really, seeing the way the blond’s face was scrunched up in concentration. “They're going to use a demonized weapon on me, so it won't hurt and boom, I’ll cease to exist. Which is okay, I guess, since no one will really miss me.”

It seemed to Thomas as if Newt was trying to sound detached, but something about the way his voice wavered just a little at the last few words betrayed him.  He was still scared of dying, Thomas realized, of leaving the world, even though it had left him a scarred mind and a defeated spirit forevermore. And it wasn’t just fear, either; there was sorrow and remorse and something else Thomas didn’t quite understand yet.

Maybe it was a vampire thing.

“ _I’ll_ miss you,” Thomas whispered, despite himself.

Newt chuckled again.

“You wouldn’t,” he said, almost inaudibly, looking like he was still deciding whether to continue, “If you knew everything I’ve done.”

“Don't you understand? I don’t  _care_ about what you've done. And even if I did, it wouldn’t really matter, you see, because _nothing is going to happen to you_.”

Newt, lost, didn’t look like he’d heard Thomas. Instead, he stood up in swift movement, and held out his hand for Thomas to take for the second time that day.

“Come,” he said softly, smiling, “Let’s go home.”

 

*

 

It was exactly midnight when Thomas and Newt stood outside the big ligneous house in the woods, waiting.

It was the quietest Thomas had ever heard the forest, but where usually the silence would’ve calmed him, today it only made him uneasy.

Thomas had accompanied Newt in what Newt insisted was, much to Thomas’s frustration, his last tour of his house. Thomas had the feeling the moldy old building held certain significance and value for the vampire.

Thomas knew the Newton kingdom had been destroyed in a civil war, yet couldn’t help wondering what the place must have looked like and whether Newt had happy memories of his time there. If he’d had lovers like Thomas, who’d long since left the world.

And though Thomas knew it was a stupid rumination, considering how long Newt had lived, he couldn’t help the selfish envy that coursed through him at the thought of the prince with someone else.

But it didn’t matter, because the Vrozhnev were coming and they were going to take Newt away from him and there was nothing Thomas could do to change it.

It was a while before Thomas heard Newt’s feigned breathing hitch and he looked into the early morning haze, which turned slowly into the silhouette of seven human like figures, approaching the pair of them.

“They’re here,” Newt breathed.

And so they were, four people in dark robes that reached up to their heads and put their faces into the shadow, and three more familiar figures in starkly ordinary clothing.

_Teresa, Gally, and Minho._

On a closer look, however, Minho’s clothing wasn’t all that ordinary.

He wore a red and black combination of what seemed like traditional Thai clothing, his feet were bare, surprisingly unsoiled and a golden brown color that seemed to glow more than usual. What caught Thomas’s attention, though, were the dark, shadowy wings that seemed to be sprouting from his best friend’s back.

He looked like a fallen angel.

He caught Thomas’s eye and looked away with what looked much to Thomas like shame, and Teresa and Gally’s gazes seemed faraway, like they were trying to detach themselves from the situation.

Newt was looking at the group of people with what could have passed to a stranger as indifference, but what Thomas recognized as acknowledgement, trepidation and wariness.

“Prince Newton,” said one of the robed figures in a low, gravelly voice, letting his hood fall and bringing his face into the light.

The face was more ordinary than Thomas had expected, a man’s, and the color of unskinned wheat. The man was bald and looked as if he were middle-aged, but Thomas knew from common sense that he was older. He had wise eyes that were dark in a way that was different to Newt’s. There was smudged _kohl_ under his eyes, and his forehead was tattooed with what looked like script from the distance at which Newt and Thomas stood.

Newt nodded at the man as if he recognized him, and Thomas tightened his grip on Newt’s hand, knowing the vampire didn’t feel it.

“Jaraasin,” Newt said, and suddenly his voice sounded peculiar, foreign.

“Prince. This will be painless, though of course you know already,” the man – Jaraasin – continued, “I hope you also know this is not my choice, it is Raxenus’s, whom I think you are already familiar with. And indeed I cannot deny a Favisori’s request to protect his Ordinem when it is a wish made in blood.”

“Just get on with it,” Newt said cuttingly, his tone mirroring Jaraasin’s conspicuously.

Jaraasin smiled grimly.

“Charming as always, I see,” he said, “One of our prized has asked to be granted permission to perform this ritual. It was a difficult decision indeed, prince, deciding who is worthy of your life, I must tell you. But we all know he has history with your highness, and I could seek but never find a better suitor for you,” Jaraasin glanced at Thomas and smiled as if he was aware of the ambiguity of his words. It was a wicked smile which made Thomas think of giant videogame monsters with their slimy, pulsating grey skin and tentacles and bulbous yellow eyes. 

The words had had an entirely different effect on Newt, who seemed to have dropped his façade of indifference. He looked apprehensive and susceptible and even _scared_ , as if he were dreading something awful yet inevitable. Thomas felt _himself_ grow anxious and wary in response.

“Do reveal yourself,” Jaraasin said to one of the other robed figures.

This figure was slightly shorter than Jaraasin but skinnier by a large amount too.

It shuffled, and Thomas got the air of as much hesitancy as one possibly can from an entirely concealed being.

And then it lifted the hood.

Thomas felt his breath catch, and Newt seemed to have lost the ability to produce sound.

Teresa, Gally and Minho still looked apathetic, though Thomas could’ve sworn they’d all tensed.

After Jaraasin, Thomas had expected something more… ugly.

Certainly not someone who looked as if they were just seventeen, someone with immaculate skin the color of mustard and green eyes that glittered like emeralds, even from this far. He hadn’t expected someone with an array of wild black hair that looked as if anxious hands had been run through it relentlessly and lips that were thin but the scarlet of blood. He hadn’t expected someone so indisputably _beautiful_.

Thomas chanced a glance at Newt, though he was afraid of what he might find there. Newt’s eyes were wide and for the first time since Thomas had met him, the boy looked sincerely terrified. So terrified it almost looked like a _human_ terror rather than an animalistic one, and when Newt finally broke the silence, his voice sounded as if he’d been incessantly screaming for days.

“ _Winston_?” Newt whispered.


	7. Always Be My Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here it is. the ending. I will update this chapter later in the day with the epilogue.  
> also, I really hate this fanfic. I do not wish to be judged by this piece of writing. I have no idea why I agreed to turn it into a multi-chapter fic. I hate it i hate it i hate it

“Isaac,” the beautiful boy – _Winston_ , Thomas thought detachedly – said, and his heart turned heavy.

His heart turned heavy because not only did that small whispered name hold unmistakable recognition and a naturalness as if it had been spoken many a time by that very mouth, but also a much deeper, more meaningful emotion that Thomas recognized as his own when he spoke Newt’s name.

Love.

Newt tensed, and then slipped his hand out of Thomas’s. Thomas felt wounded, irrationally indeed, given the situation.

Jaraasin smiled again.

Thomas hated him more with every passing second.

When no one spoke for a long while, Thomas caught Minho’s eye, and Minho seemed to shrink into a non-existent shadow, a contrast to his stunning, angelic exterior.

Thomas saw Jaraasin place a hand behind Winston’s back, and give it a slight shove. They all moved forward until they were all only a few feet apart.

“We can’t do this,” Minho said almost inaudibly, surprising everyone. “Jaraasin… please, don’t do this. I can’t see it happen. I can’t – I can’t see Thomas hurt-”

Thomas’s heart lifted a little.

“I am truly sorry, Raxenus,” Jaraasin said, sounding anything but. “But now we have made a promise to the gods. We cannot go against the gods -,” he turned to look and smile at Minho. He did that a lot. Thomas hated that smile. “You know that as well as I do, Favisori.”

Thomas got nothing of Jaraasin’s outlandish verbiage, but he got the drift of what the man was trying to say.

There was no going back now.

There had never been.

Thomas was going to change the rules.

“Prince Newton,” Winston’s voice was broken, barely perceptible, “Please step forward. Let us make this quick and painless. You know the procedure.”

Winston did not look at Newt, but when he spoke, Thomas caught the sight of something glistening on the upper corners of his mouth.

Fangs.

Winston was a vampire.

*

Thomas addressed Jaraasin directly and desperately, biding for time, and because he knew he would never hear it from Newt:

“I am sorry for whatever my… my… _Newt_ has done. But do you not think I deserve an explanation, J-Jaraasin? Before you…” Thomas cried the last few words, “before you _take_ him from me? Please? Jaraasin, please.”

Jaraasin looked for a moment as if he was about to object, but then seemed to reconsider – and then he _beamed_ as if he’d just been offered the entire universe.

“Certainly, Thomas Williams,” Jaraasin said, “Of course. I think you deserve to know.”

“ _NO_!” Newt spoke suddenly, for the first time in a long while. He was seething with rage. “Don’t. You. Dare. I will _kill_ you.”

“Like you did my son?” Jaraasin chuckled, glancing at Winston for the most negligible of a second. “Raxenus, hold him back,” he added emotionlessly.

Minho moved hesitantly but briskly forward, walking warily, as if he might be shot dead any second.

Thomas found that when Minho tried, he was more than match for Newt’s strength. Minho wore a stoic expression and avoided Thomas’ gaze pointedly.

Good thing, too, because Thomas felt like gouging the boy’s eyes out.

 _“Your “lover” was a prince, as you may, or may not, know,”_ Jaraasin started, as if nothing had happened. _“Had he told you anything?_

_His father was the ruler of the Kingdom of Newton, and I was his companion, a priest - and on unfortunate days, a vampire hunter. I had always suspected that my friend had had the evil curse inflicted on his blood, and of course, I was righ-”_

“You liar! You bastard! You’d always wanted to kill him! You always wanted that damn kingdom! You just - never expected him to have had a son he had hidden from you out of perfectly valid suspicion…”

“Raxenus,” was all Jaraasin said, and Minho visibly tightened his grip on both of Newt’s arms, and one of the black-robers placed a long fingered, but astonishingly human hand on Newt’s mouth.

_“… So, because I respected the king immensely and because I loved him as if he were my brother, I did what he would have wanted me to do - I put an end to his misery. Then Queen Newton – who had deceptively fled to somewhere for a reason no one had known until then - showed up with the prince, at the news that the king had been assassinated by nameless dacoits. I knew at once that the child had been infected – his eyes were like blood. But because he was only four, I let him be, for I hoped he might still be good._

_I married queen Newton and loved her like her former husband, until she tragically left us in her sleep. It was heart-wrenching indeed, but she looked as peaceful and beautiful as a running stream, as calm she ever had, even in death - because she knew her child was in the right hands._

_The prince resumed his father’s rule, and was much admired by his public._

_I loved him like my own, as I had loved his father, and even let him befriend my real son, Winston - despite his unchangeable monstrous future,”_   Thomas felt the breathing hitch in his throat.

Winston had known Newt in his childhood and early youth.

And he was Jaraasin’s son.

 _“And then, just like every other pair of star-crossed lovers of our time, they fell in love,”_   Jaraasin continued, clearly aware of the effect his words were having on Thomas, which explained his grin from earlier. Newt had given up resistance and had his head dropped, facing the floor; his body was a boneless puppet in Minho’s grasp. Winston had his eyes closed, he looked to be in agony, as if he were about to die in battle and knew it.

 _“The prince loved my son profoundly, so much so that he wished to be with him forever. As a result, he decided to turn my son,”_ Jaraasin looked, for the first time, something other than smug. He looked almost sad and disgusted by this particular memory, but also satisfied in a twisted way. _“You see, if it hadn’t been for that incident, the prince could have lived as a human. But he had killed my son. The one thing I would never forgive him for._

_By the time my poor boy found me, tears in his eyes, and blood running down his throat like a cataract, the prince had fled. Like a coward the prince had fled, and left the boy he claimed to have adored to turn into a monster like himself. It was utter spinelessness. But my Winston is good, he has only ever drunk deer blood, by my orders._

_Nonetheless, we sent out men to look for the prince, to bring him home. It was a constant ache in my heart; the knowledge that I might perhaps have to end the life of a youth our people, my son and even I had loved so dearly. But he didn’t want to be found. The men never did find him._

_Of course, I knew where he was. But I did not have the heart to leave the kingdom in the hands of potentially disloyal soldiers, and my son seemed much more human than his sire, so I regretfully took the crown. I let the prince go for until he hurt another mortal again. My son had little say in this. He had started hating the man, now._

_Your friend, Raxenus, is your Favisori, lucky Thomas. Few men can say have a transcendent guardian. He has been sent by the almighty himself, he is here for the sole motive of protecting you, for you are in mortal danger.”_

By the way Gally’s eyes snapped up at Minho, wide and full of shock and betrayal, Thomas realized this was news to both of them. Though why, he didn’t know. Minho had never been ordinary.

Teresa looked unsurprised, numb, and curled in on herself, as if trying to avoid letting the chilly air touch her skin.

Now that Thomas looked closely, Teresa, too, had the same glow around her that Minho did, except it seemed dulled by her ordinary clothing.

 _The seraphic glow of angels,_ Thomas realized. _Golden, and being reflected by her protégé._

_Gally._

_Teresa was Gally’s Favisori._

“Hence, Thomas Williams, the only reason we are here is for your safety,” Janisaar nodded at Thomas as if he hadn’t just told him what he had, and added, chuckling, to Minho and the robed figures, “Well, let him go, boys. Winston, do prepare yourself, I understand if it may be a little difficult.”

“ _He was my first love, Tommy_.”

When Newt looked up, he was the least human Thomas had ever seen him – his eyes were red like fires, literally – for they seemed to have life of their own. Newt’s fangs sparkled brighter than the full moon of the night before, and his hair was the gold of gods. His skin was incandescent.

 _Such a beautiful sight,_ Thomas thought.

And then it sunk in. It hit him hard enough to knock him to the ground, and scream in torment.

“ _NO!_ ”

“Did you not hear what I said, Thomas Williams?”

“Shut _up_! Get away from him!”

Jaraasin laughed at the pathetic mess of a boy on his knees in front of him, and shoved him aside with carelessness.

He handed Winston a spear, a genuine _spear_ , with ancient words engraved on its handle and the point honed to the precision required to kill fiends.

The only thing that differentiated the old weapon from the ones in Thomas’ history books was that the end was made of wood, rather than metal, and alight with fire.

Winston took it, held it up as if to aim, pointing directly at Newt – who looked wholly acquiescent – ‘s heart, and stood like that for a long while - the only movement was his trembling arm.

Jaraasin let out an impatient, aggravated sigh, and looked to one of the robed figures.

“Leave it be. Drogus, you do it.”

And so Drogus took the spear from Winston’s reluctant and astoundingly resilient hands, and shot instantly.

*

Thomas felt the blood before the pain, and heard Newt’s tortured cry before everything.

“ _THOMAS_!”

Time had become excruciatingly slow, and when Minho let go of Newt, and ran to Thomas along with Teresa and Gally, all of them looking horrified and close to tears, he realized what he’d done.

He wanted to look down at his bleeding torso, but the sharp and stabbing pains in his head convinced him otherwise.

Minho collapsed on top of him, and Gally and Teresa just crumpled on both sides of them and watched, disbelief and helplessness clouding their eyes.

Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Teresa show this much sentiment or look so anguished, or even show a sliver of the pain that laced her face now.

Gally looked like his whole world had fallen apart.

Maybe it had.

Both of theirs had.

They had never really worked as friends, but at the end of it all, their eyes said goodbye as brothers.

“You fucking idiot!” Minho yelled out, and it sounded like every word was causing him infinite amounts of agony. “Why did you do that! Newt!! NEWT!!! God damn it, Isaac, come here!”

The last thing Thomas saw clearly was Newt, his eyes wide and his actions more measured than Thomas could remember them ever being, even before everything.

The vampire knelt down, and pressed his mouth to Thomas’s neck.

“No,” Thomas croaked. “I don’t… I don’t want it. They’ll kill you too, Newt. You need to run. Go away. As far as you can… for… for as long as you can. And,” Thomas’s eyes unfocusedly fell on a dark skinned figure looming above them. “And take him with you. You love him. He loves you – I. I know because I do, too.”

“ _THOMAS_!”

And Newt cried and cried and cried, a frightening union of human and bestial grief.

He cried until he felt the body in his arms go still, and until all breathing ceased around him.

“I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry," Newt kissed Thomas's forehead gently, it was the most tender of the touches he'd ever entrusted in his entire existence.

"He was - _is_ my first love, Tommy. You… _you will always be my last_.”


	8. I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath.

The cottage in the woods had always been empty, but never like this.

The forest had never smelled so powerfully of blood.

_Thomas’s._

Gally would never have thought he’d be the one orchestrating Thomas’s funeral. He never would have thought his hands would be gentle and loving as they shut the eyelids closed over the now so familiar hazel eyes, and he never would have thought he’d weep as he closed his hands around Thomas’s lifeless ones, which still clutched the scarlet locket that hung over his unbreathing, pale chest.

But then again, he would never have thought many things.

He would never have thought Minho would leave him.

_Drogus and Gomule’s._

Minho had put an end to their collective lives with his bare hands in the wrath of angels. It was rare for angels to destroy. And then he’d kissed Gally, tears running down his cheeks. It was rare for angels to fall in love. He had told Newt and Winston to leave. It was rare for Favisori to forgive.

Minho had never been ordinary.

As a last, he had held out his hand to Teresa. And then they’d vanished into thin air.

It was also rare for Favisori to not be able to protect their ordinem.

_Jaraasin’s._

Newt had torn him apart with his teeth, uncaring of and indifferent to how much he looked like a feral animal. He had been crying and yelling and losing his mind, and Winston hadn’t stopped him. Then they’d taken each others' hands, and vanished, too, leaving no trace that they’d ever existed in the first place.

*

And Gally had been left to carry on, he didn’t get to leave.

He didn’t get to leave like Teresa, or Thomas, or Isaac or Winston. Or Minho.

He didn’t get to leave the world, or his mind, or his body.

And he had to pretend everything was fine, and he had to keep breathing like he hadn’t known monsters and loved angels.

And been loved in return.

Their love was a burden he’d have to carry, and live with, and he hated them all for it.

But he loved them still.

And he carried on, because they would have wanted him to.

“ _I miss you._ ”

And at last, he let the tears fall.


End file.
